Deception

by Carolyn Haines

  Clay gently rubbed Connor’s hand between his own. He didn’t say anything.

  “I hate to be the one to tell you, but there wasn’t a knife,” Harlan said, not hating it a bit.

  “It was on the step. I can feel my foot. It’s been cut.”

  “That much is true, but there wasn’t any knife.” Harlan started to put his medicines back in his black bag. “Since you’re talking clearly, I feel certain you’re going to be okay.” He looked at his brother. “Don’t let her sleep for the next twelve hours. Talk with her, play cards, do whatever you have to to keep her awake.”

  “I will.” Clay stood up. He looked at Connor. “Let me walk Harlan out, and I’ll be back.”

  The two men went to the living room. “Will she be okay?” Clay asked softly. In her room, Connor strained to hear them.

  “She wasn’t seriously injured in the fall. How long has she been suffering from nerves?”

  “Connor? Nerves?” Clay was puzzled.

  “You think it’s normal that she sees women standing over her bed? Unless you’ve got one of your mistresses stashed somewhere in the house, she’s hallucinating.” Harlan laughed. “Or she’s taking something.”

  “Look,” Clay’s voice was angry, “I don’t know what Connor saw, but she doesn’t ‘take things,’ and she doesn’t hallucinate.”

  “And neither did Talla,” Harlan shot back angrily. “If you’d paid a little more attention to what she did and didn’t take, she might be alive today.”

  “Shut up, Harlan!” Clay hissed. “You’re a total fool!”

  The angry whispers became indistinguishable as the two men closed the door and started down the stairs. In her bed, Connor listened as if she were someone else. There was no room for thinking or reasoning, there was only room for pain that swelled and pushed at her skin as if it wanted to burst out. She closed her eyes. “Connor?”

  Clay’s voice teased at her, calling her back from the blackness, the peace. She tried to avoid him.

  “Connor?” There was an edge of panic in his voice. Connor heard it and reluctantly responded. She opened her eyes.

  “What?”

  “I brought you some coffee.” He was sitting on the bed and he lifted the mug from the coffee table. “Willene made it just the way you like it. She’s worried sick about you.”

  “I want to sleep.” Escape, that was a better word. She wanted the deep, velvety depths of the blackness where she didn’t have to remember or feel or think.

  “Harlan said to keep you awake. It’s the blow to your head.” Clay’s voice was apologetic, worried. “I can’t let you sleep.”

  “Concussion,” Connor said. She knew enough about accidents to know that. Wearily she opened her eyes and pushed herself up in the pillows. Everything hurt. She took the coffee and obediently sipped it.

  “I saw that woman, Clay. I don’t know who she is or what she was doing in your home, but she was here.”

  Clay took a deep breath. “I heard you fall, Connor. I was there practically before you hit the floor. There was no one else. Your foot was gashed open, but there was no knife. Where could she have gone?”

  “She was hiding in my room.” Connor felt her jaw tighten.

  “I carried you straight to your room. There was no one there.”

  “You just didn’t see her, Clay. I missed her, too, when I chased her. She never went down the stairs. She was hiding up here.” Connor forced her aching eyes to look around the familiar bedroom. The woman had found a hiding place somewhere in the suite. Most probably the sitting room.

  “I promise you I’ll search every inch of your rooms to see if I can find that knife,” Clay said. “But you promise me that you won’t worry. There is a chance you were dreaming, Connor. That happens sometimes. Some dreams are so real you’d swear they really happened.”

  Connor listened with growing aggravation to his attempts to soothe her. She wasn’t some frightened woman who was afraid of things that went bump in the night. And she didn’t need placating.

  “I can see by the square of your jaw that I’m only making you angrier,” Clay said. “Shall I carry you downstairs? The kids will be up any minute. And by the way, Merry Christmas.” He leaned forward and kissed her lips. “When I saw you lying on the floor, I thought you were dead. I wanted to die. I couldn’t believe that fate would be cruel enough to take you, too.”

  Connor felt her heart constrict. Without meaning to, Clay had called up the image of Talla Sumner swinging heavily on the end of a lunge line in the barn. Connor would not have been the first young woman to die at Oaklawn.

  “What is it?” Clay asked.

  “I think I’m going to soak in a hot tub,” Connor said. “I’m so sore, maybe it will help.”

  “That’s a good idea. Just keep that foot dry, Harlan said. The cut wasn’t deep, thank goodness.”

  “If there wasn’t a woman and a knife, did you find what I might have cut my foot on?” Connor asked.

  Clay shook his head. “It’s a real mystery. I looked at every step. But I’m going back to check again. If there’s anything sharp on those steps, we’re going to fix it right away.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll draw some bathwater for you.”

  While Clay was in the bathroom, Connor settled back into her pillow and closed her eyes. Why couldn’t she accept what Clay was saying? Maybe she had dreamed the woman? She cleared her thoughts and let her mind drift. She was back in the night, waking up slowly, sensing that something was wrong. And she looked at the foot of the bed. The woman had long, dark auburn hair. It was hanging, un-brushed, about her shoulders in thick waves. Her eyes were brown, very large in her pale face. She was clutching the rail at the foot of the bed, her knuckles white with the force of her grip, and there was anger in her eyes—real, dark anger.

  Connor gasped and opened her eyes. That woman was no dream. She was as real as the sound of the bathwater running.

  Slightly embarrassed, Connor allowed Clay to carry her into the dining room for Christmas dinner. To her surprise, she was hungry, and the tantalizing smells of the food Willene had cooked were whetted by the half-glass of champagne which Clay had allowed her to sip slowly. Everyone kept watching her as if she might pitch to the floor and have a fit. Even the children.

  All morning, showing off her new clothes and jewelry and toys, Renata had been unusually subdued. Danny, too, had been quiet. Several times Connor had found them watching her, a speculative look on their faces, as if they were trying to decide whether she was crazy or not. She couldn’t help but wonder if they’d heard about the strange woman in the house, and if so, whether they, too, thought Connor’d lost her mind. Willene obviously did.

  The cook had forced her arthritic knees all the way up the flight of stairs to bring Connor apple juice and toast and to help her dress for Christmas dinner.

  Connor, already in comfortable slacks and her new sweater, had allowed Willene to French-braid her hair. The cook had fretted and begged Connor not to “allow morbid fantasies to ruin your health. Don’t fall into fears and visions.”

  As Clay seated her at the table, Connor sighed. No one in the house seemed willing to believe her side of the story. Why was it easier to believe that she, Connor Claire Tremaine, was losing her mind, than to believe someone else had been in the house?

  Whenever she thought about the events of the night before, she felt a headache threaten to roar into life. So Connor pushed her anxieties aside and concentrated on the mountains of food Willene had piled on the table. The southern traditionals reigned—turkey, cornbread dressing, sweet potato casserole, Indian corn, green bean casserole, butter beans, gravy, cranberry sauce, pickled okra, pimiento-stuffed celery, deviled eggs, hot rolls. There wasn’t an item forgotten, and all for only four people.

  “Some third-world nation is going to find out about this feast and get us,” she whispered to Clay. Her remark earned his first smile of the day.

  “It is rather wasteful, but it’s only once a year, and believe
it or not, we’ll eat most of this food.”

  “I believe it,” Connor groaned, “I’m just not willing to pay the price. My new pants will split.”

  “I doubt that,” Clay said.

  Willene came in the doorway and stood surveying the beautiful table. Red candles glowed on the gaily-embroidered tablecloth. “There’s pumpkin, lemon and pecan pies, and German chocolate and coconut cakes.”

  “I’m going to die full,” Connor vowed.

  “Pass the turkey, please,” Renata said, formally starting the meal. And as everyone dug into the delicious food, the near tragedy of the night before was forgotten.

  Stuffed and groaning, Connor was more than glad for Clay to deposit her on the sofa after lunch. He built a big fire and told the children to go down to the barn. With Connor’s approval, Clay had given them permission to ride in the woods. Renata was wearing her new coat and Danny had his halter, eager to see how it looked on Ali Baba.

  Their footsteps rushed across the porch and down the steps, and there was a vacuum of silence in their wake.

  “How’s my girl?” Clay asked, slipping onto the sofa so that he held her in his lap.

  “I’m not really hurt, just sore and banged up.”

  “Harlan said he’d stop by to check on you tonight.”

  “He shouldn’t bother. I’m really fine.” Her skin crawled at the idea of Harlan. “I’m surprised you called him for me.” She kept the statement without any inflection.

  “Once I realized you were knocked unconscious, I was afraid to move you. I straightened you out on the floor and called Harlan. I knew he’d come quickly, and he knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

  Connor knew immediately what Clay meant. And she knew why Harlan had been called. Clay couldn’t afford the scandal of a nude woman nearly dead at the foot of his stairs. No, good old Harlan could be counted on to keep his trap shut. He might not be the best doctor in town, but he was for damn sure the most discreet.

  “I see,” she said, sounding stiff and angry.

  “I know you don’t like Harlan, but he is a good doctor.”

  “I’m sorry, Clay, but Harlan doesn’t strike me as a very concerned doctor. He may be smart, and he may be successful, but I don’t think that adds up to good.”

  Clay sighed. “He can be good, and he was with you. I made sure.”

  “You were both too worried that I’d die and interfere with your political future.” She flung the words at him, and the tears were not far behind.

  Even though she tried to stiff-arm him away, Clay pulled her close and held her. “I know you’re upset. You have every right to be. But you’re fine, and we’ll get to the bottom of what happened last night.”

  “Or if we’re lucky, my feeble brain will let it slip away. The bad dream will fade, right?”

  Clay’s chuckle was heartfelt. “I guess we did sound pretty condescending, didn’t we?”

  “Very. You were extremely unpleasant.”

  “I can imagine, and I apologize. The important thing is, you’re okay.”

  Connor finally yielded, allowing him to pull her into his embrace. The events of the night before, combined with Clay’s lack of faith in her ability to reason, were almost too much for her.

  “Do you believe me?” she asked, taking comfort in the clean smell of his shirt.

  “I do. I’ve never had reason to doubt you before, Connor Claire. I’ll question everyone here this afternoon.”

  “Thank you, Clay,” Connor whispered.

  “Now I have a real treat for you.”

  “What?” She eased back and looked up at him.

  “That rascal Richard Brian called. He’s coming out in the morning, if you feel up to company.”

  “Richard!” Connor didn’t try to hide her delight. “I’d love to see him.”

  “You don’t have to be that enthusiastic,” Clay said, and though he was teasing, there was a look of dark hunger in his eyes.

  “Richard is my friend. Only that,” Connor answered, kissing Clay’s face. “I haven’t made but one new friend here. If Elvie didn’t come over to ride occasionally, I don’t know what I’d do. Anyway, it’ll be good to see someone I knew before I came here. Sometimes,” she smiled to take the sting out of her words, “I feel like I didn’t exist before I came here. It’s like there never was a Connor Tremaine in California.”

  Clay let his fingers slide through her silky hair. “Have you heard from your father lately?”

  “No.” Connor felt a surge of self-pity, and she pushed it aside. “Dad’s never been great about writing. He’s as likely to show up on the doorstep as he is to mail a letter.”

  “But he knows where you are and that you’re okay?”

  “I’ve sent him letters, so if he’s getting his mail, he knows.” Connor forced a smile. “Dad’s fine. I can only hope he’s negotiating this very moment for a magic horse that will make all his dreams come true.”

  “That’s what I love about you, Connor. You don’t let your needs outweigh your brain. You love your father, but you know him.”

  “A lesson I learned at my mother’s knee,” Connor said.

  “Your love is a gift, freely given and with no strings attached. That’s rare in a woman. Not many women can give love freely.”

  Connor felt a touch of chill as she looked at Clay’s blue eyes. “No love is ever completely free, Clay. There are always expectations. I expect that you’ll respect me and treat me well. And it’s as common for a male to withhold love as a female.”

  “Touche,” Clay said, “I didn’t mean that to sound so chauvinistic.” He stroked her cheek with his finger. “Too bad my sweetheart is so bruised. This would be a perfect afternoon for … indoor games.”

  Connor almost couldn’t resist him. “It’s a case of the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak,” she said, laughing ruefully.

  “Well, roll over and let me give you a massage.”

  “Oh, Clay, that would be heaven.” Her body did ache. Clay’s hands were so strong, so capable. And the fire beside the sofa was so relaxing.

  “I want you up and going tomorrow,” he teased as he flipped her onto her stomach and unhooked her bra. “I won’t have Richard telling people I beat and abuse you.”

  “And Richard might take great pleasure in such gossip,” Connor laughed. “You should have heard the scandalous things he said about Mobile before I moved here. He told me everything except about you.”

  “I warn you, Richard is one of Mobile’s greatest gossips. He was born into the role and trained by his mother. I’d swear Sugar Brian has a network of paid spies around town.”

  “Well, I’ll make sure that he doesn’t have anything to talk about,” Connor said. She looked over her shoulder at Clay. “I’ll only tell him the truth about your fondness for warm, scented oil and …”

  “Connor!”

  “Just kidding.” She sighed as she felt his hands go to work on her battered back. “Just keep that up and I won’t open my mouth about a thing.”

  Against all of her worst fears, Connor found that she was stiff but limbering rapidly when she got up the next morning. It hadn’t been the Christmas Day she’d expected, but it had been wonderful in its own way. Because she was still sore, the four of them had played games in the library while the afternoon faded into dusk.

  Now, this morning, she had Richard’s visit to look forward to. Clay had left for town early, a fact that made Connor wonder if he was deliberately clearing out to give her some time with her old friend. He’d vehemently denied it, claiming that a client needed his immediate attention. Still, it would be like him to give her some private time, even with a man who made him slightly jealous. And that made Connor’s heart sing. Clay had no cause to be jealous of anyone, but it was good that he was—just a little.

  Not exactly bouncing down the stairs, but mobile, Connor was greeted by a smile and a hug from Willene.

  “I knew a fall wouldn’t keep you down long, not the Horsewoman of Oaklawn.
”

  Connor laughed at her title. “Not this time, at least. I wouldn’t want to make a regular habit of going head over heels down those steps. Did Clay ever find what I cut my foot on?”

  Willene shook her head and put a cup of hot coffee in front of Connor. “I’ve been worried sick about you.” Her eyes were brimming with tears. “This house has more than its share of accidents. You could have broken your neck. How you cut your foot is a real mystery. There’s nothing sharp on those stairs.”

  “It was a knife. I must have stepped on the blade sideways. That’s what made me lose my balance and fall.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck,” Willene said. She poured eggs in the sizzling pan and spooned grits onto a plate for Connor.

  “You know,” Connor sipped the coffee, “it’s almost as if someone put something on the steps and then took it away. I’d swear it was a knife. I didn’t see it, but I felt the handle. That woman must have put it there.” She looked up at Willene. “The question is, did she do it deliberately? Was she trying to make me fall?”

  “Connor!” Willene walked around the table and put her hands on her shoulders. “That’s a terrible thing to think. It’s bad enough to think you’re seeing strangers in the house without thinking they’re here to get you.”

  “When I saw her looking at me, I knew she hated me.” Connor wasn’t going to back down on her story. She knew what she’d seen. “I didn’t imagine her, or make her up, or dream her. I saw her.”

  “Mr. Clay asked us all about the woman. Old Henry hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary, but his eyesight might be failing. Mr. Clay even called Jeff in New Orleans to see if it might have been one of his old girlfriends lurking around, looking for him. Jeff denied it. He said none of his women would dare show up at Oaklawn unless they were with him.”

  Connor shook her head. “I don’t think Jeff was involved. There was something about this woman. Something familiar, as if I should know her. And she was angry. With me. It was a personal thing between us. Like maybe she believed I’d done something terrible to her.”