Mallory wove through pots of greenery out in the courtyard. At the very back, she descended a narrow set of steps Connor hadn’t realized were there. At the bottom of the dim stairwell stood a locked set of iron-banded doors that reminded Connor of pictures he’d seen of old European cask rooms.
“Sure you aren’t taking me into the dungeon for beheading?”
Mallory shot him a long-suffering glare. “I didn’t invite you to come with me.”
As the door swung in on well-oiled hinges and a draft of cool air struck Connor, he snapped back, “No. The only place you’d invite me is a surgical ward where there’ll be a team of doctors waiting to remove one of my kidneys.”
Her shoulders bowed for an instant. Then Mallory stiffened her spine and reached inside to flip on a bank of soft incandescent lights.
As Connor came in behind her, she shut the door. “A successful wine cellar needs a consistent temperature at all times. You’ll find Dad’s white wine selection off to your right. Reds to your left. Specialty and after-dinner liqueurs just ahead. I’ll get the brandy.”
“Are you hoping to show my ignorance by having me choose the wrong wine? Sorry to ruin your scheme, babe, but I’ve come up the social ladder since you knew me.”
Connor made straight for the reds, quickly choosing a cabernet designed to complement beef. After tucking two bottles into the crook of his arm, he turned and watched Mallory lift two bottles of brandy.
“Is there an after-dinner port you and Claire could have?” he asked. “Or do you intend to let her flounder around the house by herself while your dad and I discuss my system?”
Mallory reached for a sherry, then put it back on the shelf. “I can’t imagine that your fiancée would want to spend an evening making small talk with me. Apparently neither you nor Dad care that this is an awkward situation. I…I…just want it over. As I explained the night I came to see you in Miami, I’d make a pact with the devil to have Liddy Bea well again.”
“I think you made that clear enough.”
“Don’t shout. I’m not deaf.” Gripping the bottles of brandy, Mallory jerked on the doorknob with a hand that shook badly. She cringed, feeling Connor’s hot, angry breath on her neck. It hurt horribly to see and feel how furious he was with her.
“Unlike you, Mallory, I yell and slam things around when I’m pissed off,” Connor said, giving a fair demonstration as he smacked the bank of light switches so hard his hand stung. “You and I never saw eye to eye on the way to handle problems.”
“Because I prefer self-control over shouting?”
“Is that how you explain seven years of silence?”
“Me? I didn’t…oh!” Mallory stumbled going up the steep steps. Conner shifted the cabernet and the sherry he’d grabbed to his left hand in order to keep Mallory from falling backward. His right hand slid beneath a waist-length crop top she’d teamed with walking shorts. As a result, his sweaty palm connected with her skin.
Connor’s touch, which felt both familiar and foreign, zapped a bolt of remembered passion through Mallory that all but drove her to her knees.
“Don’t touch me,” she ordered, juggling the bottles while turning in an attempt to shrug off his fingers. All that did was bring them closer together.
Her breasts were flattened against Connor’s chest when a low, angry voice from above froze them where they stood, leaning against each other.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?”
Connor and Mallory turned raised glances aloft. Squinting into light from darkness, their eyes collided with Claire’s accusing frown.
Connor’s first inclination was to snatch back his hand. However, he hadn’t done anything wrong, and he was getting damned tired of apologizing for nothing. “The stairs are steep,” he said darkly. “Mallory tripped. Here, Claire, help us, please. Take a couple of these bottles,”
“Go to hell! What I’m inclined to do is phone for a cab to take me to the airport. I’m fed up with you making a fool of me.” She tried her best to pull off her engagement ring. Clearly she wanted to heave it at Connor. But in the afternoon humidity, the ring refused to budge.
Marta stuck her head into the opening behind Claire and announced dinner. Bradford arrived a moment later.
“Good, good,” he said, stretching to relieve Connor of the cabernet. He passed Marta both bottles. In the next breath, he instructed Mallory to drop the brandy off in his study. “It’ll be my pleasure to escort your lovely fiancée to the table, Connor. I already sneaked a peek in there,” he confided. “Dinner looks and smells delicious.” The senator clamped a hand around Claire’s elbow, apparently unaware that he’d defused a potential fracas between his daughter and his guests.
Until Brad turned the corner with her, Claire gazed unhappily back at Connor, who’d emerged from the stairwell still steadying Mallory.
Edgy from the feel of Mallory’s soft skin and the intoxicating scent of her perfume, Connor detoured past the downstairs bathroom to wash again before going in to dinner. Staring into the mirror, he muttered to his reflection, “Let it go, O’Rourke. History is all you have with Mallory Forrest.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE FORRESTS’ DINING-ROOM furniture was fashioned out of teak, so old and highly polished it appeared nearly black. Because the room was banked by tall, west-facing windows, the decorator had liberally used potted greenery for a cooling effect. Asian silk tapestries, woven in muted blues and greens, hung on the wall opposite a floor-to-ceiling china cabinet. A sideboard that ran between the entry to the kitchen and the exit into the living area served as a showcase for intricate jade carvings and fine porcelain figurines.
One in particular, a colorful Ming elephant, was the topic under discussion when Connor slid into his seat. He probably should’ve seen where the conversation was headed before Claire lobbed her barb at Mallory, but he didn’t. And even if he had, it was doubtful he could have deflected it.
“I read somewhere that artists from the Ming dynasty painted good-luck symbols on each piece of their porcelain.” Claire spread her napkin across her lap, then reached behind her for the elephant. “Is this another one of your family’s lucky charms?”
Since Claire’s remarks were directed at Mallory, she spared the piece a glance before shrugging negligently. “Luck played an important part in ancient Chinese culture. Much more so than in ours.”
Claire accepted a basket of rolls from Bradford. Her attention remained on Mallory even as she replaced the elephant. “So you’re not superstitious?” she asked, tonging a roll onto her snowy-white bread-and-butter plate.
“I place my faith in science.” Mallory handed the basket on to Connor.
Claire smiled sweetly. “Oh, I guess that’s why your daughter has such a strong aversion to angels. Except she’s fairly vocal about her good luck coming from a cheap glass elephant.” Claire put a bowl of fluffy mashed potatoes in front of a confused Mallory. “Oh, maybe Connor didn’t mention how she refused to touch an angel bear he brought her.”
Bradford lifted his eyes from the roast he’d been carving. “Kids get funny ideas, Claire. I wouldn’t place a lot of significance on them.”
“Oh, I think the elephant is quite significant. Connor thought so, too. Isn’t that right?” Claire extended her plate for the meat Bradford held between the carving fork and knife. The minute she set her plate back down, she drew their attention to the lightning-bolt pin she’d transferred from her suit jacket to the blouse she had on. “I consider nothing less than diamonds my lucky charms.” Laughing, she blew Connor a kiss. “Fortunately, Connor can afford them now. His taste has greatly improved since you knew him, wouldn’t you say?” She smiled at Mallory over the flash of the square-cut stone of her engagement ring.
Connor squeezed her right hand as a gentle warning. He’d never known Claire to be so catty. Her friend Janine, yes. But not Claire. Strangely enough, he partially understood her need to hurt as she’d obviously been hurt. He just didn’t know how to make what had hap
pened more palatable for her. “Claire helped me choose the angel bear,” he said in an attempt to extricate them all. “Her niece is Liddy Bea’s age and is really into angels. I appreciated Claire’s input because I know zilch about what kids like. But then, why would I?” he said, not really cognizant that this was a pointed jab at Mallory, too.
Her dark lashes swept up, revealing penitent eyes. “I’m sure Liddy Bea didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Connor.”
Bradford cleared his throat gruffly. “Connor knows better. Men don’t get worked up over such things, Mallory. Let’s drop this nonsense. What I’d like to know is how Connor’s visit with Fredric went. I assume he arranged for your tests.”
“Oh, Connor’s not scheduled yet,” Claire rushed to say. “We have a lot to consider after listening to Dr. Dahl today.”
The senator, who’d placed slices of roast on everyone’s plate but his own, paused in the act of cutting his portion. “That right? What’s to consider?” he asked, leveling a stare at Connor. “A child—one tied to you by blood—needs a healthy kidney to lead a normal life. You undergo a few harmless tests, and if everything checks out, you give her one. What could be more straightforward?”
Mallory had barely tasted anything on her plate before this conversation. Now she dropped her knife and fork. She hadn’t once considered that Connor might not agree. That he might back out. Suddenly the possibility clutched at her heart, making it shrivel from fear. Fear for Liddy Bea.
Connor cleared his throat.
Claire again spoke for both of them. “Stop pressuring Connor. First, the brochure says there is some risk to a donor. Donors have died, you know. Others have developed long-term infections. All donors are advised to avoid heavy lifting for up to six weeks after surgery. Connor scales rocky cliffs on his job. He sometimes dangles off radar towers. He’s battled sharks, for goodness’ sake.”
“Hold on, Claire. You make it sound as if I risk life and limb daily. I don’t scramble around rocky coasts nearly as much as I used to. And aren’t you exaggerating the possible complications? We both listened to Dahl. I didn’t come away with the impression that there was much danger at all to a donor.”
Claire pursed her lips. “You’re only thirty-three, Connor. More than half of your life is ahead of you. Can they guarantee this operation won’t take a toll on your health in the years to come? What about when you’re forty or fifty or sixty?”
“Of course there aren’t any rock-solid guarantees. The doctor said there are no guarantees for either party,” Connor admitted, slanting an apologetic glance at Mallory and Bradford.
Mallory leaned forward. A metal button on her top struck her china plate with a resounding ring. “I’ve had no ill effects whatsoever.”
“You butt out,” Claire ordered. “You have a vested interest in making sure Connor goes through with this. I’m addressing him. It’s our future this could affect.”
Mallory wadded her napkin into a ball. “Well, excuse me.” She rose half out of her chair, a stricken expression darkening her eyes.
Bradford’s face turned brilliant red, and a pulsing vein stood out on his forehead.
“Claire, there’s no need for rudeness. This isn’t appropriate dinner conversation, anyway,” Connor said firmly. “It’s a discussion better left for later, when we have time alone.”
“Well, I don’t agree. I feel as if everyone we’ve met, including the doctor, has conspired to close a net around you. And you can’t see what going through with this might do to us. To our marriage.”
“You’re right.” Connor shook his head. “I don’t see a problem. The way I understood it, a person can function normally with one kidney.”
“Would anyone who’s trying to get one of yours tell you horror stories? No.” She glared at Mallory as she spoke.
Mallory shoved back her chair. “You two obviously have issues to work through. Dad, my presence here makes Claire uncomfortable. I’m going to phone Mark and ask to bunk at his apartment until Connor and Claire go back to Miami.”
“Mallory, no!” Connor sprang from his chair. “We’re the intruders. Claire and I will go to a hotel. I should never have agreed to stay here.”
His words fell on empty air. Mallory had fled the room. Connor saw her pluck her purse and car keys from the hall table. Not everyone at the table had the view he did, but he saw how badly her hands shook. Everyone, though, heard the front door slam in her wake.
Connor turned to Bradford. “I’m sorry. Please, try to understand Claire’s situation. The news of Liddy Bea’s existence came as quite a shock to her—and to me.”
Brad lowered his eyes, and motioned Connor back into his seat. “Mallory’s been rattled ever since Liddy began to reject her transplant. I’ll have Marta pack an overnight bag and send Davis to Mark’s apartment with it. Mallory’ll be fine. Claire, why don’t you tell us what your other concerns are? If necessary, I’ll phone Fredric, so he can put your mind at ease.”
Claire smoothed out her napkin. “For one thing, Dr. Dahl never explained what causes polycystic kidneys, except to say that was the reason Lydia’s malfunctioned.”
“Correct.” Bradford shifted his bulk in the chair, then took a minute to instruct Marta to gather a few things for Mallory. “Now then, the term polycystic simply means that cysts riddle Liddy Bea’s kidneys and hamper them from filtering her body’s impurities. Some people are more prone to cysts than others. It’s just one of those things. No one else in our family’s ever had the condition as far as we know.”
“Then it’s not something her mother passed to her genetically? So, what if the condition came from Connor’s gene pool?”
Connor roused. He’d pushed his plate aside, but continued to sip his wine. “There’s no kidney disease in my family, either, Claire.”
“What if it’s a sleeper? A recessive gene or something? What if we have kids and one of them needs a kidney? What then, Connor? If you’re left with only one kidney, you certainly can’t donate another.”
“Aren’t you reaching a bit, Claire?”
“Am I?” Her eyes dulled. “Can you blame me for wanting promises?”
Connor looked away. Eventually, he gave a short, negative shake of his head. “I’m not blaming you for anything, Claire. You’re the innocent who’s been hit with a double whammy.”
“Finally you see. Then you’ll go back to Miami with me, and take time to consider all ramifications before you agree to any tests?”
“No-o-o.” A grievous sound, torn from Connor’s throat, seemed to reverberate around the room. “I can’t—I can’t explain, Claire. But the minute I saw Liddy Bea’s picture, I knew I’d cut off my right arm to help her.”
“I don’t understand, Connor. Yes, you’re technically related. But you’ve never laid eyes on her until today. You’re virtual strangers.”
“It’s a connectedness I can’t account for myself. I’d have to say, it just…is, Claire. I’m sorry I’m not making more sense. I really am.” He grasped both her hands.
Tears sprang unexpectedly to Claire’s eyes.
Connor didn’t like knowing he was the cause. Claire wasn’t the type to dissolve into tears. He’d done his best to put himself in her shoes. Yes, he’d sprung a former alliance on her, one that had resulted in a child. No small potatoes. But…surely she could see there was nothing he could do to change the outcome. “Claire, don’t cry. Please…don’t.”
“I’ve got to leave. Now.” Jumping up, she again tried to wrench off the ring he’d placed on her finger during happier times.
Connor tried to still her frantic tugging. “Don’t. I’ll get my cell phone and arrange a flight home for you. I’ll stay and have the tests. After Dr. Dahl has the results, you and I can revisit my options. We owe ourselves that much, don’t we?”
“I’ll make the reservation,” Bradford offered. “Unless you want me to send a tray upstairs, since you didn’t eat much, and give yourself a night to think this over,” he said to Claire.
/> She shook her head.
“I’ll have Davis drop you off at the airport on his way to bring Mallory her stuff. I know I’m probably the last person you want advice from, Claire, but life is full of ups and downs. If you can separate yourself from your emotions, you’ll see Connor needs your support in this matter.”
“I ca-can’t. At least not now. Not…here.” Neither her chin nor her hands were steady. “I’ll wait for the tests. But I feel so wronged, Connor. I’m not sure I can ever get beyond that.”
His stomach pitched as they all walked away from a beautiful meal left almost untouched. His mind churned with fears of his own. Some included Claire. Others had to do with Mallory. Uppermost hovered feelings for a child he’d met just hours before. His daughter. The phrase had attached itself to his brain. He’d begun to seriously doubt that this strange sense of love would ever falter. For that reason, Connor voiced none of what he might have said to convince Claire to reconsider her decision.
Fifteen minutes later, the house was silent except for the ticking of a grandfather clock standing regally in the entry of the Forrest home. Connor, framed in the open door, solemnly watched Davis pull away from the steps. Claire looked small, huddled in the limo’s back seat. He’d offered to accompany her, but she’d insisted on going to the airport alone.
“Did you ever wish you could turn back the clock and repeat a segment of your life?” Connor said slowly to Bradford, who stood behind him.
The senator jammed his hands deep in his pants pockets. Rattling loose change, he slanted Connor a wary look. “A man does what he can, based on the best evidence he has at the time he’s forced to make a choice. No sense torturing yourself with what might have been. That’s a game without end, my boy.”
“I suppose.” Connor didn’t sound convinced.
“The best recourse a man has is to immerse himself in work. How about it? Shall we retire to my study where you can fill me in on that brilliant invention of yours?”
The Seven Year Secret Page 8
