She got out the chocolate and the sugar and the mugs and did her best to render the mixture in the same proportions Willene used. It was impossible to get any recipies from the cook—she never measured and she never wrote anything down. She cooked by experience and intuition. Connor had little practice at using either in the kitchen.
Putting the filled mugs on a tray, she dropped marsh-mallows in each cup and headed back to the den, where the tree stood before one of the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. There was also a wreath on the door, and the porch columns had been wrapped candy-cane fashion in red plastic. Red and white poinsettias were banked on either side of the fireplace, where beautifully cross-stitched stockings were hung for all three Sumners. Clay had insisted on hanging a stocking for Connor, so a new red one for her had been purchased. Magnolia leaves and holly were laced across the top of the mantle, along with several brightly burning candles. For once even the mirrors seemed warm.
The house was festive. Connor patted her top pocket. She’d found a snatch of mistletoe just within reach when she’d gone riding the day before. She intended to hang it over her bed before Clay got there.
But first they had to open their presents. Clay had explained that it was tradition at Oaklawn to open gifts from each other on Christmas Eve. Then Santa Claus came during the night. The “split” celebration had originated when Clay’s parents and Talla were alive. It had allowed the children to celebrate with each set of grandparents. Clay had explained that after Talla’s death, the Bienville family had grown distant, even toward the children.
Clay brought a decanter of brandy over and poured a healthy measure in her hot chocolate. “Are we ready to celebrate?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at the children.
“Yeah!” They cried back.
“Deck the halls with boughs of holly …” Clay started the song, and by the second line, everyone had joined in, laughing at their own attempts to stay in tune.
They made it through several other carols before Renata insisted on giving Clay her present. In a matter of moments, it was mayhem. Ribbons and paper flew, and Renata and Danny squealed and giggled. Renata put on the jacket Connor had given her and then ran to the mirror to admire herself. Danny was equally happy with the leather halter and the books on riding Connor had gotten for him.
Their gifts for her were new riding breeches in hunter green, and a cream-colored cashmere sweater. Whoever had helped them pick out the gifts had excellent taste. Connor sent Clay a questioning look, but he shrugged.
“They’re beautiful,” Connor said, delighted. “My favorite colors, and so elegant-looking.”
“What’d you get Daddy?” Renata asked.
Connor walked out to the front porch and brought in the big box.
“For me?” Clay laughed.
“Give her your present first,” Danny said.
“Well, maybe I didn’t have time to get Connor a present,” Clay said, looking down at his shoes. “I was so busy.”
“Daddy!” Renata was shocked. “You forgot Connor’s present?”
“Well, not really.” Clay reached in his pocket and brought out a tiny square jewelry case. He handed it to her.
Connor felt the throb of her heart in her chest. Her hand was trembling when she took the little case and it required all of her efforts to snap open the lid. It was not possible that Clay would so casually give her a ring. He hadn’t really even asked if she would marry him. But, of course, he didn’t have to. He already knew that she would. She forced the lid open and it took all of her training to keep her eyes focused on the gold embedded in the shiny white satin of the box.
“It’s beautiful, Clay. Really beautiful.”
“It reminded me of you.”
“Let me see!” Renata pulled at Connor’s arm until she lowered the box and revealed the ring, a beautiful emerald, twined in a delicate setting with a fiery opal and a trail of diamonds.
“It’s your birthstone, and the opal is for your nature. I had the ring made for you.” Clay spoke softly.
“It’s magnificent,” Connor said, composed enough to finally look at him. Her disappointment was not with the ring, but with her stupid, insane, ridiculous expectations. She’d seen a ring box and immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion. Clay had never even asked her to marry him.
“Is something wrong?” Clay asked.
Connor slipped the ring out of the box and onto her finger. It was a perfect fit. “I’m just taken aback at the beauty of the ring, Clay. I’ve never owned a piece of jewelry like this.”
“Well, now for mine!” Clay tore into the gift-wrapped box with a vengeance, and when he extracted the saddle, there were shouts from him and the kids.
“This means we’re on for a ride in the morning,” Clay said, kissing Connor’s cheek.
“Yes,” Connor smiled. She’d gotten control of herself, stomped her foolish disappointment back. If Clay wanted to marry her, he’d ask properly, not trot out a ring in front of the kids and put her on the spot. She’d been an idiot to get herself so worked up.
The children opened their gifts from Clay, and gave him theirs—more riding equipment, and a beautiful blue sweater with horseheads woven into the fabric.
“Now up to bed, so Santa can come,” Clay said, picking up the gift wrap and ribbons that had been strewn all over the floor.
Connor started to work helping him gather the debris.
“Can’t we stay up?” Renata begged. “We’re old enough to know that …”
“If this has anything to do with Santa, I’d be careful. If you don’t think he’ll come, then he won’t.”
“Oh, Daddy!” Renata was exasperated. “That’s just talk!”
“I wouldn’t risk it,” Clay warned, his voice filled with teasing affection for his daughter. “Better go up to bed.”
“Let’s go.” Danny was a little more worried than Renata. He cast a look out the window to see if anyone was about.
“Danny, they’re just trying to get rid of us so they can be alone,” Renata snapped at him. “Can’t you see that?”
“Exactly right,” Clay said calmly. “And a wonderful idea, if I do say so myself.”
Renata glared at her father and started out of the room.
“I love you, Renata,” Clay said. “I’d like a goodnight kiss.”
She stopped, frozen in place. When she turned back to him, she was smiling. She ran into his arms and threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, too, Daddy.”
Danny joined them for hugs and kisses, then both children ran out of the room. Their footsteps were audible as they ran up the stairs.
“See, I told you’d they’d begin to adjust to the idea of me and you,” Clay said. “Renata’s touchy, but Danny doesn’t mind at all.”
“She’s such a … difficult child,” Connor said. “It’s like she’s balanced on a ledge. The least wind might blow her over into that terrible anger she feels. I wish there were some way to purge her of all of the pain and fury.”
“Time will help, but basically, Renata has to want to let it go. At least, that’s what all the shrinks say. And, Connor, she’s so much better. You have no idea because you didn’t see her last Christmas.” Clay hesitated. “I came down early Christmas morning to put out the Santa presents and she’d dismantled the entire tree and dragged it out the door. She said it wasn’t Christmas without Talla.”
“My God!” Connor said.
“I almost had her institutionalized, but she was so unresponsive to the doctors I was afraid it would only make her worse.”
“How did she get the tree down?”
“No one could explain that, and there wasn’t anyone else on the grounds to help her. Sometimes a person who’s disturbed can have almost supernatural strength.”
“I’ve heard that,” Connor recalled. She gathered up the mugs and stacked them on the tray. The room was tidy again. All the presents were under the tree, except her ring. She felt it on her finger.
“So you see, sh
e is much, much better. If she continues at this rate, I’m hoping she’ll agree to see another psychologist, maybe to speed the process.” Clay walked over to her and kissed her on the cheek. “You’ve given me so much, Connor, including my daughter’s health. I can’t imagine life without you.”
She put her arms around his neck, eager for the kiss that would start the heavy fire in her body. She hungered for this man, craved him with a physical need that bordered sometimes on pain.
He eased her back onto the large sofa before the fire. His hands and mouth robbed her of any will, leaving her helpless to deny him anything he requested. When she wanted him this badly, she lost all contact with the world outside of him. There was only his generous body and the need to bond with him.
The sound of something tapping lightly at the door brought them both up. Breathing heavily, Clay listened. The fire crackled softly, and there was the sound of a soft giggle.
“Those damn kids,” he whispered. He dropped a kiss on Connor’s forehead, but he sat up.
Inching out from beneath him, Connor leaned against the arm of the sofa. She rehooked her bra and pulled her shirt together. They’d lost their minds, making love on the sofa. They weren’t teenagers, they were supposed to be adults … people who thought their actions through.
“I’m sorry, Clay,” she whispered, swinging her legs around him so that she could stand up.
“For what?” He caught her hand and kissed it. “We aren’t doing anything wrong, Connor. Or at least, it shouldn’t be wrong for me to want to make love to you. My wife is dead. It isn’t like I’m cheating on her.”
She leaned down and brushed her lips across his forehead. “I know that, but you also know there are other things to consider.”
Circling her hips with an arm, Clay pulled her into his lap. “Any other woman would be whining and complaining because my children interfered with her good time. Here you are, lecturing me that we have to be more conscious of how what we do will affect my kids. I love you, Connor. I do.” He kissed her and then boosted her back to her feet. “Let’s adjourn to your room. We can lock the door and have some privacy.”
Connor grinned. She picked up the tray of mugs. “Let me check the turkey. Willene will have me in that roasting pan if I let it burn. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Night hung heavy outside the bedroom window. Connor stretched tentatively, her fingers trailing over the empty side of the bed where Clay had lain. Half-asleep, she assessed the physical damage that their savage lovemaking would cost her in the morning. There would be definite bruises on her buttocks where Clay had gripped her in the throes of his own release. She smiled lazily. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered to herself. They might not have left the premises of Oaklawn, but Clay had transported her to a world of sensual fulfillment that she’d never known existed. Sometimes tender, sometimes wild and fierce, as he’d been tonight, Clay was the key to a land of indescribable pleasure. Connor sighed and rolled over on her side, feeling again the remnants of their pleasure.
She checked the bedside clock. The luminous dial showed three A.M. Clay had gone downstairs to arrange the children’s Christmas surprises under the tree. It was going to be a wonderful Christmas, the best in her life, Connor thought, as she snuggled deeper beneath the covers. Her eyes closed and she was drifting toward sleep when she heard the noise that had awakened her.
It was the sound of the door latch working.
Clay! Connor wiggled with pleasure. She loved sleeping beside him, his body so lean and hard and warm.
“Clay?” she whispered.
There was no answer.
“Clay?” Hope faded from her voice.
From the sitting room came a soft click.
Connor’s eyes opened. Still cocooned in the web of sleep, she looked around her bedroom. The sheers at the window were luminous white in the moonlight. She could see the antique footboard of the bed. Nothing was amiss. She closed her eyes, reaching for the soft dreams of Clay and the future.
Suddenly her heart was racing. There was the sound of someone else breathing in her room. Instinctively she knew it wasn’t Clay. Awake, Connor didn’t move. She listened. It was there, the soft exhalation of breath, as if someone stood over her watching her sleep.
Terrified, she opened her eyes. Dark eyes in a pale oval face met hers. The woman was standing at the foot of the bed, staring at her. Transfixed.
Heart pounding, Connor sat up, forgetting that she was nude beneath the covers.
The woman stared at her naked breasts, then whirled, long auburn hair and a long gown flying out behind her. She disappeared through the bedroom door.
“Shit!” Torn between terror and the need to confront the apparition, Connor grabbed a blanket, threw it around her shoulders, and ran after the woman. This time she’d get proof that someone else was at Oaklawn.
The door was open wide, and the landing outside the stairs was empty. Cursing softly under her breath, Connor pursued. Whoever the hell she was, she had no business standing over Connor’s bed in the middle of the night. She had no business at Oaklawn, as far as Connor knew. If only Clay had stayed with her a bit longer.
She was halfway down the long, narrow flight of stairs when she felt the knife blade slice into her foot. The pain was so sudden, so unexpected, that she lost control of her forward momentum.
Time slowed, almost stopping, as Connor felt herself spin head first down the steps. She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Hands held in front of her to break her fall, she hit first on her shoulder and then tumbled.
Her body slammed into the hardwood floor of the hallway. Darkness moved in on the edge of her vision. She tried to lift her head and call for help, but she was paralyzed.
There was the sound of a soft giggle. Connor twisted her eyes to the left, up the stairs. She saw the hem of a long white gown, then the body and finally the head of the young woman who’d stood over her bed. She held the bloody knife in her hand. As she looked at Connor, she giggled and then turned and fled back up the stairs.
She’d hidden in her suite. She was still there.
Connor struggled against the darkness that surged out to claim her. She was afraid, terrified that if she gave in, the girl would come back down the stairs and finish her off. She opened her mouth and tried to call Clay’s name, but no sound would come from her. At last, she could fight no longer and darkness swept in.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Connor opened her eyes. The large blond head bent over her was unfamiliar. She blinked and looked harder. When Harlan Sumner turned his face to her, she screamed.
“Do you always have that effect on your patients, Harlan?” Clay asked from the corner of the room. He walked forward, into Connor’s line of vision. “Connor,” he whispered softly, picking up her hand. “Everything’s fine, don’t worry. You’re safe.”
“Step back,” Harlan ordered, as he reached into his black bag and drew out a pencil-shaped light. “I’m going to look at your eyes,” he told Connor as he lifted each lid and shined the light in her pupils.
“Yes,” he said slowly, “yes, the dilation and contraction are good.”
“What happened?” Connor asked. Her throat was sore, as if someone had tried to strangle her. Every muscle in her body felt like she’d been kicked. She shifted, wanting to sit up, but Harlan put his hand on her chest and held her flat.
“Stay still just a bit longer,” he said. “Nothing’s broken, but I want to check out a few more things before I give you a clean bill of health. You’re a lucky woman.”
Connor looked around. She was in her room, beneath her covers. Harlan and Clay were the only ones with her. Weak daylight hovered outside the window. It was very early morning.
“What happened?” she asked again.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Clay said. He eased to the side of the bed where he could sit and hold Connor’s hand. “When I found you at the bottom of the steps, I thought you were dead.” He lifted her cold fing
ers and pressed them to his lips.
Fragments of the night came back to Connor. Her eyes opened wider. “She was in my room,” she said urgently. “I went to chase her and I stepped on something sharp on the stairs. I lost my balance and fell.”
Across Connor’s prone body, Harlan looked at Clay. “That’s where all the blood came from, the cut on her foot.”
“What were you doing with a knife?” Clay asked. His face was pale, his eyes tight with worry.
“I didn’t have one,” Connor said. It was coming back to her. “I woke up because I thought I heard something. It was the door latch, but I thought maybe it was …” She drifted to a stop, unwilling to speak of personal matters in front of Harlan.
“I drifted back to sleep, and I had the strangest sensation someone was staring at me. So I opened my eyes, and there she was, at the foot of the bed.”
“Who?” Clay and Harlan asked.
“I don’t know who she was. I’ve never seen her before in my life. She was pale, with long hair. And she had on this strange white nightgown, like she’d escaped from a movie set.”
“She was just standing at the foot of the bed?” Harlan’s skepticism was obvious.
“I didn’t give her a chance to do anything. I jumped up and started chasing her.” Connor felt her temper begin to elevate. She shifted and was sorry for the movement. Pain winged through her body.
“Better try to stay as still as you can,” Harlan said. “You beat the hell out of yourself. I still don’t know how you avoided breaking your silly neck.”
“Harlan!” Clay snapped.
“Tell us more about your nocturnal visitor,” Harlan said.
Connor ignored him and looked, instead, at Clay. He was paying strict attention, and he was worried. “She turned and ran out of the room, and I thought she went down the stairs, so I went after her. But about halfway down I stepped on that knife. I lost my balance and fell the rest of the way.”
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