The Renegade

by J. R. Ward

  The last three days had been hell. He’d wanted to see her again the instant she’d left the shop that morning. But a vow was a vow and he’d already technically broken the once-only rule by being with her after she’d woken up.

  Unable to trust himself around her, he’d skipped the rest of the parties that weekend. Besides, God only knew what O’Banyon had had to say when she’d disappeared all night long. There was no reason to get brawling with the guy.

  Besides, only once was all he would allow himself. He owed Reese’s memory, for one thing. But more significant, he was very sure that if Cassandra knew he’d killed her husband she wouldn’t want him anymore. Since he wasn’t about to tell her the truth, because that would just add another layer to her tragedy, then he had no right to be with her again.

  “Alex?” She tilted her head, green eyes widening.

  Shoot, he’d been staring at her.

  “Sorry.” He smiled. “After you.”

  Evergreen Assisted Living was housed in a single-story brick building that, unfortunately, looked a lot like a prison from the outside. The facility was all dull gray concrete, uniform windows, and doors with alarms on them. As he and Cassandra walked inside, however, the place’s true nature came alive. There were bright murals and real plants. A cage full of pink and blue and yellow parakeets. From the rec room, big band-era music drifted out.

  One of the aides bustled by with a tray of cookies and stopped when she saw him. “Hello, Alex! Our Emma’s been waiting for you all day long.”

  “Hi, Marlene. Hey, how’s your grandson?”

  The woman flushed and cleared her throat. “Aren’t you sweet to ask. He’s much better since he got to meet you. All he talks about now is sailing.”

  “You tell him I always got a place on my crew for a good man.”

  Marlene reached out her hand, touching his arm. She blinked rapidly a couple of times. “Thank you. Really…thank you.”

  The gratitude made him uncomfortable and Marlene seemed to know it. She smiled and patted him before stepping back.

  “Listen, you don’t really have to come to his birthday party,” she said.

  “Are you nuts? And miss the cake? Besides, he’s asked me to check out a girl for him. You know, see if she’s got what it takes. Gotta have my boy’s back. It’s a guy thing.”

  Marlene looked as if she was about to melt again and he was relieved when she just put her hand to her throat, nodded and left.

  It wasn’t that he minded tears. He’d always felt, though, that if a woman cried in front of him, he had to fix whatever it was that had upset her. And some things, like what had happened to Marlene’s grandson, just couldn’t be made right. At least not in the ways that mattered, not in the ways that would ensure the kid grew up and lived a full life and passed gently into the grave at the age of ninety.

  Frankly the gratitude was weird, as if he were doing her a favor. Like he would turn down a request from a child in a burn unit? Whose company he enjoyed?

  “We’re down here,” he said to Cassandra, nodding toward a corridor that stretched out to the right.

  Every twenty feet there was a door, and some of them were open. Inside, residents watched TV from loungers or lay in bed reading or sleeping. Some of them looked up and the ones who did waved. He returned the greetings.

  “Yo, martini!” he called out to one gentleman.

  “Hiya, gin fizz!” the guy shouted back.

  Alex paused in front of his grandmother’s closed door. He made sure his shirt was tucked in smoothly. Adjusted his belt so the buckle was precisely in the middle. Ran his hands through his hair, noting that it had to be cut.

  He took a deep breath. As he wrapped his fingers around the handle, he glanced at Cassandra.

  She was staring at him with an odd expression on her face.

  “What?” He looked down at himself. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I—you just surprise me, that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  “You seem very human tucking in your shirt and smoothing your hair. That’s all.”

  “Human?” God, had having sex with him convinced her he was some kind of animal?

  The door was torn out of his hand before he could say anything else. The aide on the other side, a young woman with a blond ponytail, jumped.

  “Oh! Hello!” She went breathless as she looked up at him and blushed the color of a Christmas ribbon.

  “Hi, Lizzie.”

  “Hi—I mean—” She bumped into the doorjamb as she came out, her blue eyes fixated on his face. “Hi. Um, she’s asleep.”

  “Okay. I’ll just hang for a minute or two and leave her a note. I shouldn’t have come this late.”

  “Do you want me to help you wake her up?”

  “Nah. Leave her be.” Alex motioned Cassandra inside with his arm.

  “Will you be back tomorrow?” Lizzie asked, bringing her ponytail around her shoulder and petting it. “Because she likes to have her hair done for when you come. She and I have such fun when I put it up for her. She just loves that. And she loves seeing you.”

  “I’ll come the day after. And thanks for taking such good care of her.”

  “I like her. A lot.”

  Alex waved as the door eased shut. Hero worship coupled with a tender crush was as hard for him to handle as gratitude. In his mind, both magnified his faults to an unbearable clarity.

  His grandmother’s room was dim, lit only by a night light glowing in the bathroom. The furnishings were institutional, like something you’d find in a college dorm, and the air smelled a little of disinfectant, but other than that, it was a very nice place. Lots of windows. Bright yellow walls. Everything was clean.

  There were family pictures on every flat space in the room: the windowsill, the bureau, the bookcase by the door, the walls. A bouquet of fresh flowers, probably brought by Joy before she returned to New York City, was on a side table.

  “Hello, grandmother,” Alex murmured as he approached the bed.

  Emma Moorehouse had always been beautiful, and in her gentle slumber, she was still lovely at age eighty-eight. Her wavy, white hair flowed around her, spilling onto the Frette pillowcase and her peach satin duvet. Her face was unlined and pale as cream, the result of careful tending, not plastic surgery: she’d always taken a parasol outside with her, and that classic, high-bred bone structure had withstood the passage of the decades with grace.

  He carefully picked up her hand. The skin on the back of it was translucent, so thin he could practically see the bones.

  “It’s Lexi, Grandmother,” he said softly, while he smoothed her fingers.

  She stirred and turned toward his voice, though her eyes remained closed.

  “I’ve brought someone with me. Cassandra. She’s working on our house.”

  Alex talked for a while, saying nothing much. For some reason, being around her eased him and the feeling was evidently mutual. When the dementia got bad, even with the drugs Emma was on, the nursing home would call him and he’d come running. All it took was the sound of his voice and she’d calm down.

  It was odd to be the source of comfort for someone. But over the past month or so, he’d grown to need the sensation he got from being needed by her.

  * * *

  Cass settled back against the wall and fought the urge to give Alex privacy. She just didn’t want to leave. Seeing such kindness in him relieved the tension in her somehow, even though his compassion was directed toward another.

  As Alex loomed over the bed in that black leather jacket, he didn’t seem at all the kind of person who could be so gentle. But this massive, hard man had tremendous reserves of tenderness. He just kept them to himself a lot of the time.

  And he was wrong about being awkward around people. Everyone at the facility adored him. The staff, the patients.

  How could they not? He cut a stunning figure to begin with. Add to the looks his innate charisma and his calm confidence and he was the leader no matter what s
pace he walked through or who was in it. She was quite certain he could rally everyone in the nursing home with a mere passing suggestion.

  “I’m working on some of Dad’s plans,” she heard him say. And then, “Do you think he would have minded?”

  In the low light, Alex’s face was mostly somber, but in his expression she caught a glimpse of something so sweet her heart cracked: a hint of the little boy he had once been.

  An awful feeling came over her, something tantamount to dread.

  No, it actually was dread.

  She couldn’t possibly be falling in love with him. No way.

  No. This was not happening.

  Cass closed her eyes and let her head fall back. When it hit something, she turned around. The framed photograph was of a young man who looked like Alex.

  “My father,” Alex said softly into her ear.

  Cass jumped and glanced over her shoulder. “Ah, you two look alike.”

  He reached out and squared off the picture. His blunt fingers lingered on the frame.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, abruptly.

  He frowned, but didn’t look away from the photograph. “Why?”

  “For the loss of your parents. Gray told me how they died. It must have been very difficult for you. All of you.”

  She expected him to shrug her off. Instead he murmured, “If Reese could come back, would you do anything different?”

  Cass hesitated, the question catching her off guard. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

  “What would it be?”

  Oh, God, she thought. So much.

  “I, uh, I would have let him know what I was thinking more often.” Even though it would have hastened the disintegration of their marriage. If the infidelity had been out in the open between them, she knew in her heart she couldn’t have stayed, and it was disturbing to realize that the subterfuge had been what kept her with Reese. Why lies were more binding than the truth just didn’t make sense.

  Didn’t sit well with her, either.

  Alex nodded. “Me, too. I would have told my father how much he meant to me. And I would have spent more time with him. My mother as well. Anyway…Let’s go, okay?”

  On their way out of the nursing home, they stopped so Alex could chat with the rehab specialist about his grandmother.

  When they were in the Rover, Cass looked over at him. “You are so good with her.”

  Alex’s face tightened as he put his seat belt on. “It’s weird. We weren’t close when I was growing up. I thought of her as rigid and old-fashioned, but now I love her for those very things. The high standards of behavior. The Victorian code she lived by. When she dies, it’s going to devastate me.”

  Cass stayed quiet, hoping he’d forget he was talking with such candor.

  Fortunately, he kept going.

  “Because of this leg of mine…I’ve had a chance to get to know her again.” He shook his head. “God, if I hadn’t been forced to come home, I wouldn’t have. Maybe not even for Frankie’s or Joy’s weddings. And how whacked is that?”

  “Racing is a very demanding profession. I’m sure they would have understood.”

  He looked at her. “But why should they have to? You know, I didn’t realize how much slack the family cut me until recently. When I came back after the accident, all banged up, my sisters welcomed me with open arms, as if I hadn’t run off and left them when they needed me.” He swore softly. “Success doesn’t put you in a special class, it really doesn’t. It just predisposes you to behaving badly. Or at least that’s what it’s done to me. Frankie raised Joy. Joy took care of Grand-Em. The two of them sacrificed their lives while I chased after finish lines. The only solace that I take is they both ended up with men worthy enough to love them and strong enough to take care of them. But still…it’s a damn shame I can’t replay the past. And I really wish there was some way to make up for the great void that is their brother.”

  Alex frowned, as if he’d just realized how much he’d said.

  Before she could get a word in, he said smoothly, “Do you mind if we stop at the supermarket on the way home?”

  His sudden shift jarred her. One minute he was telling her things she’d never imagined hearing from him. The next, he was back to stone-cold normal.

  “Cassandra?”

  “Uh, no problem.”

  “Thanks.”

  Man, this guy could close doors better than anyone she’d ever met, Cass thought as she put the car in gear. In an earlier life, he’d no doubt been a brass hinge.

  When they were going down the Lake Road, he withdrew a thick envelope from his pocket. “Can we pull up to that mailbox by the stoplight?”

  “Sure.” She eased over to the curb and eyed the snowbank. “Let me drop it in for you.”

  He hesitated and then gave the thing to her. “Thanks.”

  When she was at the box, she glanced down at the address he’d written in precise letters. Newport, Rhode Island. She didn’t recognize the name.

  The trip to the local Shop Rite didn’t take long in spite of how much he bought. Alex was efficient. He knew exactly what he wanted and where to find it in the aisles. Six packs of Ensure. PowerBars. Chicken. Chicken. Chicken. Lettuce heads. Carrots. Vitamins. Orange juice. Yogurt. He worked the U-Scan like a flash, as well.

  The bags were in the back and they were heading to White Caps, when Alex looked over at her.

  “Thanks for doing this. I’m sure there are better ways for you to blow an hour and a half.”

  “It was no problem.” She hit the turn signal and eased onto his driveway. “Would you like some help getting this stuff inside?”

  “No. You wait here with the heater running. I won’t take long.”

  And he didn’t, even with the cane.

  With the last two bags in his left hand, he shut the rear door. She expected him just to wave her off, but he came around to the driver’s side. She put the window down.

  “Seriously, thank you,” he said.

  Their eyes met.

  Ask me in, she thought. Ask me to stay for a while. For the night. I know you have your reasons to keep away, but—

  “See you tomorrow, Cassandra.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  A week later Alex clipped his cell phone shut and stared at the thing.

  William Hosworth IV, or Hoss as he was known in sailing circles, wanted to buy a boat. From Alex.

  Which was nuts, he thought.

  When he’d sent those plans to Rhode Island, he hadn’t anticipated this kind of thing. He’d just wanted another set of eyes to tell him if the changes he’d made to his father’s designs had in fact improved the overall performance of the craft.

  What the hell did he know about building a sailboat? Sure, he’d spent hours upon hours rehabbing the damn things in and out of the water. And there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do with his hands.

  But building a sailboat from start to finish was a different beast than fixing one.

  Abruptly he thought of the unwinterized part of the barn. If it was cleared out, the center aisle was big enough to accommodate a full-size yacht up on blocks. If he bought the wood and hired a couple of guys—

  No way. He’d need industrial tools and respiratory apparatuses. He’d have to comply with standards and codes he didn’t know about.

  Except, what if he out-sourced the project? Now there was an idea. He knew a pair of brothers up on Blue Mountain Lake who handmade repros of old-fashioned power boat racers. Maybe they’d be interested in doing a partnership.

  Then Alex thought of Mad Dog’s impending visit. He knew it wasn’t a social one. His crew was going to want him back at the helm. Soon.

  If he decided to return as their captain, he could kiss off the yacht-building fantasy. You didn’t put boats together as a hobby even if you had someone else pounding the nails. You had to monitor the progress constantly, be on hand and available if problems arose.

  Like Cassandra was with her work. She was on site every day, dealing
with issues.

  He looked at White Caps, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Instead all he saw were three plumbers walking out with their toolboxes.

  Each afternoon when the men left, Alex fought not to go over to the house. Cassandra’s presence was a constant—

  A pounding on the door brought his head around.

  “Hey, Moorehouse!” Spike called out. “You ready to go see your grandmother?”

  “Yeah.” He picked up two of his father’s original plans and tucked them under his arm as Spike came in. “And I’ve got another stop I need to make in town.”

  “No problem, man.” Spike smiled, his typical, halfcocked grin making an appearance.

  Today, the guy was wearing his standard uniform. Black turtleneck, black pants, beat-to-hell biker’s jacket. A pair of aviator sunglasses hung on a leash around his neck. With his hair sticking straight up and the earrings, he looked like a GQ model who’d been styled by a goth anarchist.

  Alex grabbed his coat and the two of them went outside. Snow was falling lightly, silently. He looked to White Caps, willing Cassandra to come out. Of course, she didn’t.

  “Why don’t you go to her, man?” Spike said quietly.

  Alex just shook his head and got in the car.

  * * *

  After the plumbers left, Cass sagged against the wall. She felt as if the law of gravity was taking a special interest in her. Her clothes seemed heavy as a lead suit, her arms and legs dragging.

  It was all catching up to her. The not sleeping, the not eating.

  Bottom line? She was losing weight as well as her mind.

  And all that was before she’d realized she had fallen in love with Alex.

  The sound of a car pulling up to the house brought her head around. Actually, the low growl was more like a diesel truck. So it was probably one of the plumbers coming back for something he’d forgotten.

  As the plastic wrap moved aside, Cass had to blink several times.

  Holy…that was definitely not one of the plumbers.

  The woman in the doorway was easily six feet tall, and her face was right out of the movies, all eyes and lips. She was dressed in tight blue jeans and a dark fleece and her long, black hair fell down her back.