Connor left the kitchen, turning in the hallway toward the stairs that led to her rooms. The children used the central stairway to go up to their rooms on the second floor. The house had been designed so that Connor’s suite was separate. She’d meant to ask Clay if her living area was a newer part of the house. Oaklawn dated back to the 1830s, Willene had told her. In those days, many houses were built in stages, with wings and floors added as the family grew.
But the structure of the old house was unusual. Especially the garden room, as Connor called it to herself. That room was such a contrast to the rest of the house. Had Clay had it remodeled, or was that a reflection of Talla Sumner’s tastes? It didn’t really matter. No one seemed to use the room at all anymore.
Connor started down the long, dark hallway. As usual, she considered what it would be like if all of the grim portraits were gone and the walls painted white. Perhaps then the mirrors would make it seem brighter. She caught her reflection in one beveled-glass oval and paused. In the dim lighting she looked pale, her eyes large.
“The better to see you with, my dear,” she whispered to herself. Instead of the giggle she expected, she was rewarded with a rush of goosebumps. Moving lightly, she dashed down the hallway, up the stairs, and into her rooms. As she put her key in the lock, the knob twisted under her hand.
Had she left the door unlocked?
She thought she’d locked it. She was trying to get into the habit of doing that. It would save problems in the long run if the children got into a mischievous tear. An ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure, her father had often said.
Easing the door open, she stopped. Her reflection in the large, ornate mirror over the fireplace had once again startled her. She stepped into the room and hit the wall switch. Light flooded the room, extending back toward the bathroom.
The rooms were empty. If someone had unlocked her door, they were gone.
CHAPTER NINE
Connor lifted the lightweight saddle onto Cleo’s back and tightened the girth. It was November first, a crystal-clear morning with enough nip in the air to make life not only bearable but very pleasant. She hummed softly to herself as she bridled the mare and led her into the sunlight.
“Up mighty early.”
Jeff’s voice stopped her. She hadn’t expected to meet anyone so early, not on a Sunday. Especially not Jeff.
“The children are coming down for a lesson later this morning. I wanted to get my ride in before they got here.” She kept her voice light and friendly, even though she didn’t necessarily like Jeff. She’d see him looking at Sally, and it had reminded her of a wolf watching a lamb at play. Jeff was a sexual predator. He intended to have Sally, and he didn’t care what it did to her in the long run.
“I never thought you’d get that little hellcat on a pony.” Jeff grinned and shook his head. “You must be somethin’.”
“I hope Renata has come to believe I wouldn’t hurt her. She isn’t afraid of the horses, Jeff, she’s afraid of being hurt again.”
“Sounds like you’ve studied to be one of those psychologists.”
There was a derisive tone in his voice, and Connor took note of it. “Not hardly. I just pay close attention to what people say and do.” She put her foot in the stirrup and swung up on the mare’s back. Jeff made her a little uneasy. She was ready to ride on.
“Mama had a talk with Willene yesterday.”
“So I heard,” Connor said. “I guess people shouldn’t go around romanticizing outlaws.”
“Or politicians.”
Connor looked directly into Jeff’s eyes. She caught a fleeting signal of contempt, possibly anger. “What are you saying?” she asked.
“You’re the expert on observing people. If I were you, I’d keep an eye on your boss.”
“He’s your boss, too,” Connor said carefully. Cleo, eager to be on the way, ducked her head and danced sideways a step or two. For a moment Connor’s concentration shifted to her horse as she used her leg to steady the mare.
“As I said, you’ve done a job with Miss Renata.” Jeff laughed. “I’d just be certain she doesn’t do a job on you.” He turned around to walk back into the barn.
“And you be certain you don’t pull a quick one on Sally.” Connor couldn’t control her temper another second.
Jeff stopped in his tracks, then slowly turned around. “The girl’s eighteen. She’s legal—and old enough to make up her mind.”
“If you lie to her or promise her anything you don’t intend to give, you’ll answer to me.” Connor knew she was overreacting. She was making a bad situation worse.
“I didn’t realize Mr. Sumner had put you in charge of me,” Jeff said slowly. His eyes were slits. “Maybe he doesn’t understand that I have no intention of working for a woman. He might enjoy hiring women for their … fringe benefits, but I won’t work for one.”
“I’m not your boss, Jeff.” Connor had to regain some control of the situation. “This is personal. Sally is young and innocent. You, by your own bragging, obviously aren’t. Leave her alone. Pick on someone with your level of experience.”
Jeff’s grin was a caricature of humor. “Since I don’t consider that an order, I’ll give it all the attention it deserves—none. Now, you’d better get on with your ride, hadn’t you, Miss Tremaine?”
Connor bit her lip and turned Cleo toward the woods. The beautiful morning was ruined. She’d escaped the children —and Clay—only to find herself in a confrontational situation with that clod Jeff. And she’d made a useless enemy.
Thoughts of Jeff receded as her worries about Clay rose afresh. She’d wanted to meet him in the orchard the night before. Several times during the night she’d awakened and gone to look out the window, wondering if she’d find him out there. Her skin had grown hot at the thought of his touch, and she’d opened the window and let the cool air of All Hallows’ Eve blow across her. The breeze had chilled her, sending her back to her bed with chattering teeth and the creepy feeling that somehow Clay Sumner had bewitched her. In all her life she’d never met a man she found so difficult to resist.
Connor was so deep in thought that Cleo’s sudden sideways bolt made her lose a stirrup. She caught her balance immediately and used her off leg to push the horse back to the center of the trail. Since Cleo was off the race track she virtually never got rattled. There was nothing that could shake the mare up after a year of racing. Connor reined her down to a walk and stopped her. On a hunch she made a tight circle and backtracked. Cleo’s hooves had dug into the soft dirt and it was easy to find the spot where the horse had bolted. Searching both sides of the woods, Connor could find nothing that would startle the mare.
Nothing.
Perhaps a rabbit or an armadillo had shifted in the underbrush. Or even a bird. But it was so unlike Cleo to let something like a small animal disturb her. The creatures of nature were an accepted part of the daily rides in the woods.
Connor had turned around again, ready to resume her ride, when a flash of white in the trees caught her eye. She stopped Cleo again and strained to see into the thick underbrush. There was something hanging from a tree limb about ten yards from the road. She slid off Cleo and tied her reins loosely to a tree limb. Pushing aside the bare branches of scrub oaks and dogwoods, she forced her way to the bit of hanging cloth. When she got there, she found a small clearing. There was a trail, little more than a passageway where someone had pushed through the underbrush a few times. She picked up the material, aware of what it was even before she recognized it.
The white cloth was long and narrow. A stock tie. And the initials CLS were embroidered in it.
Connor looked up, scouting the woods for the person who must have left the tie. It was freshly laundered, still smelling of detergent. There wasn’t a smudge on it.
Richard Brian’s words came back to her. Clay had ridden with a hunt in northern Alabama. He’d have the necessary dress accessories. The stock tie—to be used as a sling or tourniquet during an emergency. T
he old-stock-tie was still part of formal hunt dress.
Connor wadded the tie up and stuffed it in the pocket of her jacket. She didn’t know Clay’s middle name, but she intended to find out as soon as she could buttonhole Willene.
She remounted and continued to ride away from the house and barn. If Clay had been hiding in the woods, why would he do such a thing? How had he gotten there so fast? She’d left the house before anyone had even gotten up. And she’d tacked up and ridden away very quickly. She and Cleo had kept a steady pace, trotting and cantering along. How would Clay, on foot, have gotten to the woods in time to hide?
And there was no doubt in her mind that whoever had been in the underbrush had been hiding … hiding and watching. For what? Connor cast a glance over her shoulder. There was no one else on the trail, and no one should be in the woods.
Cleo picked up Connor’s unease and increased her pace. Connor forced her fears out of her mind and concentrated on getting the mare to stretch and lengthen. One thing about the move to Alabama, Cleo and Tinker were both getting a chance to get some road miles under their girths. For Connor, it was the second step in obtaining her dream. She had to have perfectly conditioned horses. Horses that could stand up to the grueling competition she knew they were going to face if she actually got a chance to compete in some of the bigger competitions. Cleo was pregnant, it was true, but Connor could not afford to let the mare lose her conditioning. As soon as the foal was born and weaned, Cleo would be—fingers crossed—on the circuit.
As her thoughts lightened, Connor was once again aware of the beautiful day. The sky was a pure blue, robin’s-egg, without a trace of cloud. Filtering through the evergreen branches of the pines, the sun struck the remaining leaves, on the scattered hardwoods. Alabama lacked the seasonal drama of the East or the grandeur of the West, but there was a distinct beauty in the gentle roll of the land. Part of the attraction for Connor was the lack of development. It was still a place where a man—or woman—could purchase a tract of land and hope to make a dream.
She’d been in the city of Mobile only a few times to run errands for Willene or to pick up a few barn supplies. She’d been struck by the beauty of the town, due primarily to the graceful oak trees that lined the streets and canopied overhead.
Enormous old houses, many of them immaculately maintained, were set back from the downtown streets. The oaks threw deep shade like a shawl of graciousness across their broad porches. It was the South. Or at least, as close to the real thing as Connor had ever seen. On every trip into town Connor had thought of Richard and his caustic remarks about Mobile society. Well, she had yet to see an Azalea Trail Maid or a Junior Leaguer. She knew she’d recognize the Trail Maid by Richard’s wickedly amusing description of the pastel crinoline dresses. The Junior Leaguer might be a little more difficult. Richard had said that as soon as one opened her mouth, Connor would recognize the breed. And he’d warned that they all had names like Buffy and Margaret Anne and Babs and had a perfect penchant for plaid.
Her face was touched by a smile as she thought of Richard. She could almost hear his devilish imitation. “Well, darlings, I just put the children and the dog in the Bla-zer and we simply had to go down to the club for lunch.” The club being the country club, where membership was a necessity of life for any Leaguer, according to Richard. If she had time one day, Connor decided she’d at least ride by “the club” and see what all the fuss was about.
On a whim she took the narrow path that led to the small spring. Clay’s place. She had to come to terms with herself about her employer, and she had to do it today. He was off limits, and she was going to have to accept that fact. Maybe if she thought it through logically she’d be able to figure out why he had such an effect on her.
Hah! As if her family was known for logical thought! She chuckled out loud at that. Every member of the family apparently had his own individual weakness. Tomas Tremaine would go to the ends of the earth for a horse—a dream horse. Molly Tremaine had sacrificed her need for home and hearth for her husband, the only man she’d ever loved. Even Hilla Lassfolk had had a daft spot for an outlaw. And Connor? Until Clay, she’d never been sure what her Achilles’ heel would be. Never in a million years would she have thought it would be a politician, a lawyer from Alabama. Fate was an evil little mother.
Cleo took her unerringly to the spring, and once there, Connor dismounted. Cleo seemed content to stand for the moment, so Connor walked over to the spring. It was beautiful. Large enough for a dip, and about chest deep, she guessed, with an interesting dogwood trunk growing out over the water.
The realization that she didn’t want to leave Oaklawn struck her suddenly. She’d been playing it month to month with Renata and the horses. Progress was steady. Renata had learned to ride and was even getting bold enough to jump the little poles that Connor had set up for her. Danny was already taking one-foot poles and was begging to go higher.
Still, she’d made Clay agree to the month to month terms of employment. She wasn’t certain the whole plan with Renata wouldn’t backfire at some point. The child was—unsettling. Just when Connor thought they’d made some progress in their personal relationship, Renata would pull back into her shell. And there were times Connor caught the young girl watching her with a look that almost froze her blood. She was disturbed. Deeply. And as much as Clay glowed about the changes in his daughter due to Connor and the pony, Connor herself didn’t feel so sure.
Beside the pool Connor found one of the last of the season’s black-eyed Susans. She picked a golden petal and dropped it to the ground. “I should stay.” She plucked another petal. “I should leave.” She continued around the flower, slowly going through the ritual of childhood.
There were three petals left when Cleo lifted her head, pricked her ears forward, and whinnied. Connor was beside her in a flash, the reins in her hand and her heart pounding for no good reason.
In a moment there was the sound of hooves coming down the trail. Clay burst into the clearing, his eyes dancing and thick hair curling on his forehead.
“I was hoping I’d find you here,” he said, sliding from the saddle to stand beside Connor. “You avoided me last night and escaped me this morning.”
“It was deliberate,” Connor answered. Her heartbeat had increased, but it wasn’t due to fear this time.
“Why are you afraid of me, Connor?” Clay leaned his arm across Tinker’s saddle. “You act like a deer, all ready to bolt every time I speak to you. You don’t impress me as a timid woman. What have I done to you?”
“I’m not afraid of you, Clay. I’m afraid of myself.” She shook her head at the cliché. “As corny as it sounds, I don’t want to be around you because I don’t want to find myself involved with you. I teach your children and I work for you. That’s my role here. To add anything else would complicate things too much.”
“I’m strongly attracted to you, Connor. Physically and in a lot of other ways. What could be wrong with that? We’re both single.”
“Have you considered what it might do to your daughter?” Connor swallowed. “I have. I’ve watched the way she looks at us when we’re together. She would hate me. Even the small progress we’ve made would be destroyed. She’d feel as if I were taking you away from her, and I think you’re really the only thing she has left that she cares about.”
Clay slapped the reins gently in his palm. “I love Renata a great deal. But I have a right to my life, to my needs and feelings. Talla has been dead for over two years now. I’m not a monk.”
“I understand there are plenty of women who chase you around town. It isn’t such a big sacrifice.”
Connor almost stepped back at the anger she saw in Clay’s face. She wished she could take back the sarcastic words, but it was too late.
“I don’t know who your informant is, but he or she is woefully out of touch with my personal life. Before I married Talla …” He broke off with an oath. “I’m sick of this town, sick to death of the rumors and gossip, the cru
el and malicious lies. You stay out here in the country and even you’re infected with it.”
“I’m sorry, Clay. I had no right to say that.”
“No right, but plenty of provocation, I can see. Who’s been feeding you that garbage?”
Connor shrugged. Where had it come from? Richard, to some extent. Harlan. It seemed that everyone she talked to warned her of Clay’s sexual prowess. “Different people.”
“Richard Brian?” Clay guessed.
“In part.”
“Richard was no saint, but that was back in our younger days. When we were single and free. But we never lied to a girl. We never made false promises.”
“Clay, this is really none of my business. I should never have opened my mouth about any of this.” Connor felt panic rising in her. Why couldn’t she manage, just once, not to step into some type of emotional turmoil with Clay? “Your personal life is your business. Only yours.”
Clay walked toward her, reaching out a hand to touch the side of her face. “But it affects you, all this nasty gossip, all the lies and innuendo.” His fingers caressed her cheek. “I can feel you trembling.”
Connor locked her knees. She wanted to step forward into Clay’s arms. There was nothing in the world at that moment that she wanted more. Only her iron will kept her from moving. “I can’t get involved with you. Therefore your personal life is none of my business.” Her lips were tight and the words came through them stiffly.
Clay’s hands drifted to her shoulder, and then to her arm. His fingers tightened, and with controlled strength, he pulled her into his embrace. His arms locked around her, crushing her against him.
Unwilling to yield and unable to run, Connor felt the tears building behind her eyes. What was wrong with her? Disaster balanced on a thin wire. She lifted her head to receive his kiss.
Time collapsed, and Connor gave herself completely to Clay’s hands and lips. Desire washed over her, and she felt his own reaction pressed against her. From far away she heard the horses shift and the sharp call of a jay. But her senses were drowning in the smell and feel and taste of him. The sun warmed one side of her face, and Clay’s hands traced lightning streaks of pleasure across her skin as he slipped them inside her shirt.
Deception Page 12
