“Maybe you should credit that to your mother’s intelligence and her ability to stay hidden. She disappeared without a trace.”
His daughter looked at him, her blue eyes ice-cold with anger. “And she made up a fake husband. A fake dad for me to believe in.”
He held up a warning hand. “I can’t talk about that with you. I wasn’t part of that time in your life.”
“But she lied to me!” Erin jerked to her feet and paced across the room to the window. “She let me think there was this man who cared about me, even before I was born.”
“All your mother wants,” Rhys said softly, “is for you to be safe and happy.”
“Well, she really screwed that up.” The words were particularly ugly, coming from her. “How can I ever trust her again? She’s ruined my life.”
Laughing, at this moment, would be exactly the wrong thing to do. “That’s a little extreme. Nothing’s changed, except in your mind.”
“Like all my friends won’t find out? The people at the show were whispering, I heard them. ‘She looks so much like him. Do you think there’s a connection? Is that how she won?’ Erin leaned her forehead against one of the windowpanes. “I’ll be a bastard,” she said softly.
“That’s not so terrible these days, sweetheart.” Rhys crossed the room to put a hand on her shoulder. “Nobody cares much about legitimacy anymore.”
His daughter looked at him over her shoulder. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes shone with unshed tears.
“I do.”
HE CALLED JACQUIE once Phoebe had left. “We talked for a couple of hours, then she went out to visit the horses.”
“What did she say?” Her voice sounded ragged, as if she’d been weeping.
Recounting the conversation, he tried to soften the blows. “Erin didn’t really understand everything that happened. I tried to explain the whys.”
“She wouldn’t let me tell her my reasons, wouldn’t talk to me at all.” Jacquie was quiet for a moment. “Does she look okay?”
“Same as usual. She’s not suffering physically, don’t worry about that. And, somehow or another, we’ll get her through the emotional trauma.”
“‘We.’ It’s beginning to sound as if we’re divorced parents instead of…”
“Lovers?” He heard her take a sharp breath. “Or how about unmarried parents? Erin is worried about being illegitimate. I tried to suggest it doesn’t matter much these days.”
“She knows better. The news will be all over our church, and everybody will be looking at Erin like an escapee from a freak show.”
“That’s their problem.”
“No, that’s my problem. Mine and Erin’s. Did she say anything about coming home?”
Now, the bad news. Rhys took a deep breath. “She’s still furious with you. I suggested she think about going home, but she resisted mightily. It’s going to take some time, that’s all.”
“So she’s back at Phoebe’s house?”
“Er, no.”
After another long pause, Jacquie said, “No? What does that mean?”
“She asked if she could stay here, with me.” He hesitated, then finished in a rush. “What else could I say, besides yes?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“NO. NO WAY.” Andrew dropped the predinner sandwich he’d made on the kitchen counter. “She’s not staying here.”
“Yes, she is.” His dad rubbed a hand over his face. “And I expect you to be at least pleasant. Erin is your sister.”
“Half sister.” He got a dirty look for that. “Why can’t she go home?”
“You’re aware of the situation. Figure it out.”
“Does Mrs. Archer know?”
“Of course.”
Andrew chuckled. “Man, she must be pissed.”
Eyebrows raised, arms folded over his chest, his dad stared at him. “I’m so glad we’re amusing you.”
He felt his face get hot. “I’m not…it isn’t…I know it’s not funny.” For something to do, he picked up the sandwich again, though he couldn’t imagine eating it now. “How long is she staying?”
“Until…she’s ready to leave.”
“That could be forever.”
Again his dad stared at him. “She’s my daughter. If she needs forever, she’s got it. Do you understand?”
He understood, all right. He understood that Erin Archer was going to prance around like a princess—having her little drama, crying and sulking, grabbing everybody’s attention. His dad and Terry would be worrying about her and taking care of her and spoiling her. They’d be lucky to have any time left for the horses.
Unless, of course, they decided the princess was good enough to train Imp. Instead of Andrew.
Dropping the sandwich into the trash can, he headed for the barn. The weather was warming up and the days were getting longer, which meant more time spent in the barn after school. In New York, winter was still in charge. For once, he wasn’t complaining about the move south.
Until he found Erin standing at the door of Imp’s stall. “What are you doing?” The stallion had his head over the lower half of the door, nudging at her shoulder with his nose while she stroked his cheek.
She didn’t look at Andrew. “Hanging out.”
“He’ll bite, if you’re not careful.”
“I’m careful. And he won’t bite me.”
“Yeah, right.” He wasn’t going to leave the barn with her still here, so he might as well finish up his chores. Grabbing a pitchfork, he pushed the wheelbarrow to the door of Abner’s stall, right next to Imp. For a while, the only sound in the stable was the thunk of horse dirt hitting the bottom of the barrow.
Then Erin looked in. “Want some help?”
“No.” The stalls were his job and he wasn’t giving up any part of it.
“Want me to clean the water buckets?”
A job he hated in winter, because he got wet and cold. “No.”
“Sweep the aisle?”
“No.”
“Do you even know what a big jerk you are?”
“No…I mean…” He glared at her. “Shut up.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Make me.”
“Like I couldn’t?” A quick picture of what his dad would do to him if he beat her up flashed through his mind. He shook his head. “You’re not worth it.”
Her eyes widened, then went all teary. To his surprise, Erin turned away and walked out of the barn without another word. Imp whickered after her, but she didn’t look back.
Andrew tried to feel victorious. He’d gotten rid of her. For the time being, at least.
But he’d fought dirty. And a win by cheating wasn’t really a win at all.
AFTER A FEW DAYS in her dad’s house, Erin had started going to the barn early in the morning to talk with Imperator, the way she’d talked to Mirage where she used to live.
“I miss him,” she told Imp as she stroked his big nose. “And I know he’s missing me. I’m sure she’s feeding him and stuff. But it’s hard when your friend goes away.
“I don’t know when…if…I’ll go back. I bet they’ll try to make me, though.
“Then I’ll miss you. And wonder if you’re figuring out what went wrong at that fence. I wish I could help. I have a feeling only Rhys can do that. The problem was you and him, wasn’t it? Then I think the answer has to come from the two of you working together. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Imperator rubbed the side of his face against her leg, then lifted his head and rested his chin on her shoulder.
“I thought so. I’ll see what I can do.”
BY THE TIME ERIN had been at Rhys’s house for a week, Mirage missed her almost as much as her mother did. Though she hadn’t changed his food and had ridden him often, the horse was losing weight, acting listless.
Just like Jacquie.
To be safe, she asked Buck to check Mirage for any health problem she might have overlooked. The veterinarian arrived late on Thursday afternoon and perfo
rmed a thorough exam.
“I’ll run some blood tests,” he said finally, “but I’m not seeing anything physically wrong.” He watched for a minute as Mirage stood with his head low, his eyes half-closed, barely interested in what was going on around him. “He’s sure not happy, is he?”
“No, he’s not.” She sighed and led the gelding back to his stall and his nightly bucket of grain.
“So, where’s your girl?” Buck bent over to scratch Hurry’s ears as Jacquie came down the aisle. “She’s usually standing right here, asking me more questions than I could answer in a year of vet school.”
Jacquie stopped dead. She hadn’t even thought of what to say about Erin’s absence. With her clients, she made the excuse of too much homework. But she didn’t have an explanation for Buck.
His eyes were worried as he looked at her. “Jacquie? What’s wrong?”
“Erin…” Tears stung her eyes. “Erin’s at Fairfield Farm. With her…father.”
Buck simply stood there, arms at his sides, his eyes unfocused for the seconds it took him to understand what she’d really said.
Then he crossed the space between them and put his arms around her, pressed her head onto his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, honey. Is there anything I can do?”
She was still crying into Buck’s flannel shirt when a cough from the front of the barn signaled that they were not alone.
“Excuse me,” Rhys said.
With a sniff, Jacquie stepped out of Buck’s hold. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to find out how you’re doing.” His eyes raked her, and then the veterinarian. “Well, I see.”
“Don’t be a jackass” was Buck’s comment. He turned back to Jacquie. “You call me if you need me.” Then he left the barn, brushing past Rhys without another word.
Neither of them spoke until the sound of the vet’s truck had faded into silence. Rhys shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Do you have a problem with one of the horses?”
“Mirage misses his rider, is all.” She lifted her chin, tried to brighten up. “How is she? What’s going on?” They’d talked every day, and she knew Rhys did his best to convey the details of Erin’s life. He couldn’t be blamed if his best wasn’t any kind of substitute for her daughter’s presence.
The day he described as she fed the rest of the horses and closed up the barn sounded much like the days she and Erin usually shared.
“Andrew still won’t allow her to clean Imperator’s stall,” Rhys reported, as he petted Hurry and enslaved the dog for life by rubbing her stomach. “But he’s granted her permission to shovel manure for the rest of the horses.”
Jacquie felt an odd urge to smile. “How kind.”
“She’s been riding Ricochet, practicing for the Top Flight trials, and doing a good job with him. He’s sweet tempered, but inexperienced. Ric has been Terry’s special project, so he’s having a good time with the two of them. He approves of Erin’s light hands on the reins, protecting his baby’s mouth.”
“And Andrew’s still jumping Imperator?”
For the first time, Rhys hesitated. “Yes.”
She turned to look at him. “Top Flight is two weeks away.”
“I’m aware.”
“You’re not planning to ride?”
He didn’t answer, which was an answer in itself.
With her chores finished, Jacquie turned off the barn lights and pulled the sliding doors together, leaving a small opening to bring in fresh air. Rhys walked beside her as she looked at the three mares in the pasture and Sterling, alone in his paddock.
“This is a nice place,” he said quietly. “You’ve done really well for yourself, Jacquie.”
She shrugged. “It’s not Olympic gold. But we’ve been happy.” Tears threatened, and she shook her head. “Do you want some coffee?”
“Sure.”
With his first step into Jacquie’s house, Rhys experienced an immediate sense of homecoming. This was the woman he remembered. Unlike the tidy barn, disorder ruled here. Stacks of papers occupied the counter in the kitchen, along with sunglasses, gloves, various key chains, and several leather straps which proved to be parts of a bridle. In the family room, a wrinkled quilt thrown over the couch revealed where Jacquie had spent the night. Books about horses, dogs, wolves, and eventing sat on every available surface. A picture of himself riding Imperator as they took their victory gallop at the Olympics confronted him from the seat of a chair. He winced, closed the magazine and moved it to a table.
“You haven’t changed, after all,” he told Jacquie as she handed him a mug of steaming coffee.
“What do you mean?” When he gestured around the room, she nodded. “Housework isn’t high on our priority list. Maybe I’m rebelling against my mother, the best cook, the best housekeeper there ever was. As a kid, I was always getting yelled at—about my messy room, my dirty clothes, my tangled hair. I swore I’d never do that with my own children.”
She sat down on one end of the dark blue couch and Rhys took the other, sinking deep into the soft cushions. Hurry jumped up between them, circled three times, and settled into a curl of black and white pressed against Rhys’s thigh.
Jacquie’s worried eyes found his. “Maybe my mom had the right idea. Is…Erin…being a slob at your house?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t noticed, but then, I haven’t looked at her room. The housekeeper hasn’t complained. She’s just thrilled to have another female around the place.”
“That makes this arrangement sound…permanent.” Her coffee mug started to shake, and she put it down on the table beside the couch. “Are you suggesting that Erin won’t ever come home?”
Rhys tried to choose his words carefully. “I want—”
She didn’t allow him to use them. “Because I’m telling you that’s not an option. I’m holding on by my fingernails here—and they’re breaking—to give Erin the space she needs, the time to adjust. But I’m not giving her up. Not to you, not to anyone. When all’s said and done, my daughter will live with me.”
“Our daughter,” he said through clenched teeth. He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t lose his temper tonight.
“A week doesn’t make you a parent,” she shot back sharply, her voice slightly superior in tone.
“Fourteen years doesn’t make you an expert. Will you stop trying to fight with me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The pattern had just become clear to him. “You’re doing your damnedest to keep me at a distance, if by no other means than making me mad.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re afraid of what happens when we don’t fight.”
She turned away from his face. “That’s…ridiculous.”
“Prove it.”
“How?”
“Just sit here with me, quietly. Enjoy the end of a day’s work, good coffee, a warm, quiet house.” He had wanted to share this with her, a long time ago. He’d thought they would have years and years of evening peace together. Instead, this hour might be his only chance.
She made him wait a long time before she agreed. “We could have a fire,” she said finally, “to take the chill off.”
“Good idea.” He set his mug on the coffee table and slid forward on the deep, wide cushion in order to leave the couch. A vise of pain gripped his back, and he took a quick breath.
Jacquie sat forward. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just a twinge.”
“Let me get the logs.”
He turned to her. “I’ll get the logs, Jacquie. Relax.” Kneeling on the hearth, he transferred three of the logs stacked nearby into the grate, added kindling and tinder and struck a match. The flame caught and spread quickly.
“Nice dry wood,” he said, and started to get to his feet.
In an instant, he was down on his hands and knees, his whole back in spasm.
“Rhys?” Jacquie came down beside him. “Tell me what to
do.”
“Pretend this isn’t happening.” Teeth gritted, he crawled the short distance to the table, put his palms on top and pushed himself upright. From there, using just his legs, he managed to stand up. Stiff, in agony, but fairly straight.
“Now, what?” Jacquie looked up at him. “Do you want to lie down? Should I drive you home?”
“No, and no. Give me a minute, I’ll be okay.” He reached backward, trying to massage the worst ache with his fingers, but he couldn’t get to the right spot. “Gimps ’R Us.”
She walked around behind him. “Does massage help? Here?” He felt a tentative pressure near his spine. “Here?”
“A little higher.” As a mere mortal—and a man, at that—he simply couldn’t find the nobility within him to give this up. “To the right. Ah…there.”
Jacquie pressed her palm against Rhys’s back, feeling the tightness in the muscles. She could imagine how such tension must hurt.
“I need some resistance,” she told him. “Can you brace yourself on the mantel shelf? And this’ll work better with your sweater off.” She helped him pull the soft gray lamb’s wool over his head, leaving him in a long-sleeved T-shirt. “That’s good.”
Beginning in earnest, she used the fingers of both hands, pressing firmly, moving in circles. She repeated the motion a few inches higher, and then higher again.
Rhys’s breath hissed through his teeth, and she jerked her hands away. “No, don’t stop.” He sounded hoarse. “This is the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”
Pressing, kneading, she worked up and down both sides of his spine. Rhys put his head on his arms, and she could feel him relax as she worked. The fire at their feet crackled and burned, just short of a blaze that would be too warm to stand close to.
Still, she felt heat building inside of her, and her breath became uneven. Her seeking fingers slipped again and again on the smooth knit of the shirt, until she clucked her tongue in frustration, then reached underneath, gliding her hands over his smooth, firm skin. She heard Rhys’s breath again—but not, she thought, in pain.
The contours of his back were amazing, a landscape of sleek curves to be explored by touch…and sight. Impatient with the shirt, Jacquie pushed the cloth up to his shoulders and, a little roughly, over his head. Without a word, he pulled the sleeves off his arms and dropped the shirt out of reach of the fire, returning to lean his arms on the mantel.
The Fake Husband Page 20
