She gave him a skeptical look, but before she could come up with a decent response, she felt the borderlines of the gate. It was like an electric buzzing pressing into her and then swirling around her in an eager, joyous thrumming.
Home.
Home.
Home!
She could even feel Intuition’s delight in her arrival with Christopher beside her, her fingers woven though his.
“Blood calls to blood,” he said softly, watching her from the side of his eye as the SUV passed beyond the gates.
“Right.” She wanted to laugh, but feared if she did, she would break into something hysterical. Her face already hurt from all the smiling. She gave up pulling it back and cuddled into him. “Apparently, you are approved too.”
“That’s a good start.” He grinned and slipped his arm around her. “Welcome home, Frankie.”
The driveway was long, twisting around the mountain to reach the house tucked between oaks and redwoods. Everything was welcoming and familiar, like she was always supposed to be here. Why had she waited so long? He parked the SUV at the roundabout before the majestic Victorian.
“This is it.” She forced herself to sound more confident than she was.
“Yes, indeed.” He opened his door and got out, moving to the passenger side door to open it for her and offer his arm as escort.
“I can walk on my own.”
“But then I wouldn’t have the privilege of escort.”
Here heart fluttered as she took his arm and climbed out. “I can’t believe you’re real.”
“Fairly confident I’m authentic.” He assured her and inclined his head as he pulled her closer. “Solid Wallace upbringing, but Amy is primarily responsible for my training.”
They walked toward the house but he let her set the pace. Not saying anything when she turned to gawk around her at the green lawn, the lush trees and the beautiful, huge house.
“I’ve only seen it in pictures,” she said, voice pitched low, filled with awe. “Will you come in with me?”
He tipped his head at the suggestion as they walked up the steps and she fished in the packet for the ring of keys. “Yes. Of course.” Reaching out, he indicated one of the keys on the ring. “This one is for the front, with the yellow tab.”
She unlocked the door and he provided the security code for the alarm from memory, shrugging at her accusing look.
“I grew up here. This was my second home.” He motioned for her to enter first, waiting just outside for her to peer around in the entryway. “You can always change it if you don’t trust me.”
Except she did trust him. The house trusted him. The grounds. Everything.
Frankie felt like she was full of fireworks.
Chapter 7
Heart and Home
A sigh of cool air tangled around her. Welcome home. Welcome home. The cheerful sense whispered against the nape of her neck, like someone laying a silken mantel around her shoulders.
A question hung there, crystalline and cool along her temples and tears prickled her eyes. ‘What took you so long?’
Christopher stood silently behind her and he slid closer, settling his hands on her hips. He let her lean back into him while he pushed the door closed and locked it.
The aches in her body revolved around the quivery pit of her stomach. Behind her eyes, she felt the bruised sensation from the headache, parts hangover, jet-lag and stress.
“Come and sit down. Let me get you something to eat. Something to drink that doesn’t have alcohol,” he whispered against her temple, pulling her back into him, coaxing her to relax with the soft massage of his hands.
She nodded but when she took a step forward, she knew she wouldn’t make it more than a few steps before simply crumpling. He whispered something quiet under his breath, a soft warning before he picked her up and carried her through the shadowy foyer and huge living room and at last to the kitchen where he seated her at the bar.
“You’ve worn yourself to bits,” he murmured as he verified she wasn’t going to slump off the chair. His knuckles brushed along her jaw and over her chin. “Frankie.” He smiled at her and touched his forehead to hers, breathing her in. “Will you let me take care of you?”
“For just right now? Or —”
He grinned and his thumb pressed into the dimple on her chin. “Or,” he said and winked. “Hold on to the counter. Don’t you dare fall and crack open your head.”
She nodded and let her eyes close once he released her. “You don’t have to do this,” she mumbled, bowing forward onto the pale granite counter, enjoying the cool surface under her cheek.
“When is the last time you ate? Not just a nibble of a cookie.”
She kept her eyes closed, groaning softly at the thought of food. “Awhile.”
“You need to eat, Sunkist. You’re burning a lot more energy being stressed with everything else going on.”
Softly, she whimpered into her crossed forearms. She knew this. She also knew that the amount of liquor she’d guzzled the past week didn’t do her any favors. Thank God, he wasn’t scolding her about the drinking.
He pressed something into her hands. It smelled sweet and she opened her eyes to find a slice of fruit, a pear, maybe, and he nodded encouragement, nibbling on the other half. “Just start with this. And this.” He slid a glass of water over to her. “If this stays down, we try something more. Okay?”
Nodding, she braced to take a small nibble that led to a bite that finally ended in her eating everything except the sliver of core. It was a pear, but both sweeter and tarter. Something exotic and familiar. Focusing on the counter, she saw a bowl of them. Pale, blushing skin with gold-flakes pressed in big, ragged patches.
“What is this?” she asked, picking up one of the fruit.
“We’ve always called them pearls. It’s like pear, but not; obviously. They grow on the red tree.” He shrugged, helpless. “Good, right? More? Or a peach?”
“More,” she agreed, tossing him the fruit she had started to polish on her dress. While he cut this one, she drained the glass of water. Her hands stopped shaking at least. “What’s the red tree?”
He offered her the fruit half and refilled her glass. “Huge tree up the hill, way back beyond the stables.” Again, a roll of his shoulders. “He’s one of a kind.”
“He? That’s weird. Right?”
“Is it?” He grinned at her, full of so many secrets that he stumbled on what to say. Instead, he shared in her delight at the fruit.
“Amy used to bring jam like this when she would visit. This is it. Right?” She blinked and grinned. “Oh. No wonder I couldn’t ever find it in the store. You don’t know how many times I went looking.”
He laughed. “Poor Frankie. You have lived a barbaric existence far from home. We’ll go hike up to the tree tomorrow if you want. I have to work in the evening but—”
Her humor faded and she frowned down at the core left in her fingers. “I don’t want to keep you. I mean, of course you have things to do. I have things I should—”
He reached across the counter and lightly nudged her chin with his knuckle, tipping her face up to his, his expression serious. “I have waited for you…for years. The things I have to do, I will do. Otherwise, I’d like to spend time with you. If you permit it.”
Her smile returned and nodded her head. “Yeah. I permit it.” Her crinkled nose was mirrored by his. He didn’t respond back, just smiled at her, searching her face. That was enough for her, too. Particularly when he caught her hand and held it.
“How do you feel?”
“A little shaky still.” She sipped the water, glad the headache was retreating. The constant buzz of happy house and ground energy revolving into something less demanding of her focus.
“I can only imagine how hard this all is to take in. It will settle out, though. I promise.”
“I am not sure why Amy or Ellen or Frank never told me anything. Aside from the: ‘Don’t ever go there, you will be killed
,’ I never—”
“The what?” His eyes widened at this bit of news, color in his face draining.
Frankie winced and sipped down the rest of the water. “Ellen was convinced that someone would kill me if I came out here. She thought someone would come after me. She…was not well.” She pushed the glass across the counter.
“That’s why you never came?”
She nodded.
“We…I mean, I assumed you just rejected your…talent.”
“Talent?”
“Let me fix you something real to eat before we go into that. Hmm?”
He searched her face, apparently uncertain, the bombshell about Ellen seemed to have rattled him. With a pang of guilt, she lowered her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I thought you knew about her condition and all that happened. Your uncle Tommy knew.” She sighed quietly. “So, I’m tainted. My mother was crazy. I might go crazy, too. It did keep me away. I didn’t know I had a good-looking chef ready to ride in on a…wait, what color is your horse?”
“Ooh, now I see the humor beneath your serious shell. You are a Welton. Remington is chestnut. He is very flashy. You may call him Lord Remy only if you give him carrots.”
Frankie bit into her lower lip. “My God. That is adorable.”
Christopher sniffed, giving a haughty toss of his head and spun away from her, striding for the fridge. “Adorable? Lady, you have no idea. Just wait until you see him. He is seventeen-three hands of pure horse power.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Savages. You were raised by barbaric savages. Who is going to see to your equestrian education, Lady?”
She thought about that as he peered in the interior of the refrigerator. “I don’t know the first thing about horses. How on earth will I take care of them? And riding? I’m sure they will buck me off.”
“Not these horses. Trust me, you’ll be fine. Let my sister teach you. Or my aunt Marion, who is watching them for you. Or me. I’m fairly trustworthy.”
“I’ve never even had a goldfish before. What in the world do I know about taking care of anything? I can barely take care of myself.” She scrubbed her hands over her face and peered through her fingers at him when he chuckled.
“It’s easy, Frankie. But don’t rush into anything. You can see the horses, feed them carrots, brush them and decide what to do. Small steps.” He resumed his inspection of the food, his voice coming from inside the door as he crouched down. “Amy really set up the food here. There’s all kinds of… Oh, here we go.”
He drew out a neat stack of containers and she saw as he settled them onto the counter they were neatly labeled and Amy’s careful handwriting showed the date.
“Is it safe to eat?” It sent a pang of longing through her. She missed Amy so much. She regretted letting Ellen’s crazy keep her from this place.
People planning to kill her. How stupid.
Except Tom Harris and half of her new employees did not seem particularly friendly toward her. Not everyone was delighted she was here taking up Amy’s requests.
“Of course, and look—” He turned the container and showed her the For Frankie and Christopher with an arched eyebrow.
“But how did she…?”
“How indeed. Amy had talents you see. She could see very far.”
Easy as that. Her aunt was talented without question. Frankie knew it—she didn’t fear it despite Ellen’s warnings not to trust her. Why should she? She had her own life coach whispering in her head now. Is that what he meant by talent?
Her palm itched furiously and she rubbed it on her hip.
Christopher noticed and asked, “Did it do that before? I mean, before they—butchered it?”
“I don’t remember what it was like before. I think I was fourteen, right after Frank died, and Ellen was sure someone was going to see it and—do something to me. Steal me away? Frank and Amy had them.” She blinked at the revelation. “Right. Blood calls to blood. Sister and brother. Ellen hated it. Hated it.” She watched him move around Amy’s kitchen—her kitchen, lost in the grace of him as he arranged pans and a cutting board and settled in to begin.
“I’ve been so ashamed of it. Mostly it feels numb or hurts. Today it itches a lot. Tingles.”
“You are so strong, Frankie. If you didn’t go crazy having your mark cut, you aren’t going to go crazy being here.” His green eyes twinkled. “And I found you despite her ignorant meddling. Now I can steal you away.” He held up his hand to her and she felt the draw toward him. He grinned at her in silent acknowledgment.
He feels it, too.
“This is going to be awkward at parties,” she whispered, fighting the urge to stand and go to him. Wrap herself around him. Kiss him.
“Only if you’re not at my side,” he said. “I like it.” He pressed his palm flat to his chest, holding it, and her, close to his wine-dappled heart.
“This seems like a strange way to start a relationship. I don’t know anything about you. You don’t know anything about me. I’m not—”
“I have tried to meet girls without the mark and it ended badly. Sophia is a fine example. My mother, Grammy and second mother said, ‘Wait. Be patient, she will be here’… I ignored them and ended up across the world, to straighten myself out.” He sighed, watching her. “Have you had better luck?”
“No,” she admitted. “I was told to never let anyone get that close.”
“Who said that?” he asked.
She sighed. “My trainer. I don’t think you’d like getting close.”
He regarded her like she put out a dare. “Why not? I liked the kiss.”
She blushed at the memory of the taste of him and avoided his gaze. “I’m dangerous. I could hurt you.”
He smiled. “Please. Hurt me.” The way he whispered it sent a golden tangle of pleasure through her. “Ask me anything, Frankie.” He began cutting, head tipped to indicate he was listening as he worked.
It was hard to focus on questions she wanted to ask while watching him. So strong and handsome with those huge hands that handled the knife with skillful agility. “All right. You went off to Scotland to cook there—were you getting in touch with your heritage?”
Laughing, he answered, “In a way. Now, our Wallace lines are not related to William Wallace, but we do trace our heritage from Scotland to Yountville to settle. That’s why the Loom has the French and Scottish connection, you see.”
He offered her a look in one of the containers where four tiny birds were neatly arranged, their delicate skins pink and fresh. “Quail?”
She considered her turbulent stomach, which had remained steady even after the fruit and nodded. “I’ll try it.”
“You seem hesitant about our traditions. Is this because of your…uh…Ellen?” He added onions into the pan, and some spices almost at random.
“Yes. Ellen.”
“But you will believe your eyes or what you feel?”
She reflected on this question while the quail cooked. “I can’t know until I see. Right?” Opening her palm, she looked down at the mark, the scars around it where the flesh was cut away and grew back. She did feel it, but what if this was how Ellen went crazy?
For a little while she watched in silence. He cooked and she admired, enjoying those moments when he glanced over at her and his jungle-green eyes would soften at catching her watching him. Soon, the food was cooked, and he was arranging the quail and salads on the small dishes.
“This is just a starter.” He slid a plate to her. From the dining room, he brought two goblets, filling them both with juice.
An electric thrill tickled along her arm as she picked up the cup. It was polished silver, lined with gold. The liquid made the interior metal blush. The artwork engraving outside was a hunting party with hounds and horses racing around the tree-lined border.
“Let’s drink to the future, and not allowing our past keep us from risking a chance of happiness.” He spoke with reverence, a quiet, hopeful joy under it.<
br />
Yes!
The goblets made a chime when they touched. He held her gaze as they drank, his smile soft and intimate. No one had ever looked at her like that before.
She wanted to say something deep and meaningful but it wasn’t in her nature to be a pool of insight. At last she drew her gaze away and focused on her food.
Oh, the food. The quail tasted incredible. Her familiar fierce hunger returned with a vengeance. The queasiness banished and she realized how starved she was.
He watched her eat, smiling with satisfaction before returning to cooking. This time he didn’t give her a preview, stepping to the stove like some magician ready to conjure the light. He even gave his sleeves a playful flick back from his wrists before he set to work.
She could smell juniper berries and pepper as the steam curled up around him. Settling deeper into her seat, she enjoyed the berry juice and the tart, crisp flavors of the salad, pear vinaigrette mingling with the rosemary and garlic on the quail’s crisp skin.
He drew out the dark garnet meat, adding to the mix, letting it mingle with the broth before covering the pan and turning down the heat.
“Won’t take much longer.”
“Going to tell me what it is?” she asked, playing with the cup.
“I’ll tell you after you have a bite. How’s that?”
“Sounds mysterious.”
His head nodded in agreement. “I don’t want your opinion clouded.”
He flashed a grin over at her and began to plate the dark meat, taking care in arranging it before dishing out something from another pan. Then, he added chocolate, of all things, to the sauce still lingering in the pan and gave it a stir.
“Chocolate?” She peered at him and then his work.
“Sshhh. Secret.” He shifted slightly to block her view, shooting a playful look over his shoulder. After a moment, he drizzled the sauce over the meat and added sprinkles of cheese and what she suspected was truffles, the black flakes scattered onto the side item with the cheese.
“Let’s eat in the dining room?” He lifted the plates and offered a look of invitation to draw her after him, gliding backward toward that room.
Lies That Blind Page 6
