by Janet Dailey
"Join us if you want. But don't expect me to make you feel welcome." She pivoted sharply and started toward the motel door, dragging Eden with her.
"Look, Mommy. Here comes Ben." Eden waved gaily at the driver of the car pulling into the lot.
Chapter 38
Except for two men sitting at a counter drinking coffee and four more people at a table on the other side of the room, they had the restaurant to themselves. Abbie sipped at her coffee and glanced toward the kitchen, wondering how long it could possibly take the waitress to bring Ben's banana cream pie and Eden's hot-fudge sundae. . . and how long it would take her daughter to eat it. It couldn't be soon enough to suit her. Maybe she should have ordered something to eat just to have something to do to make the time pass more quickly, but the way her stomach was churning, she doubted she could keep it down.
It was difficult enough sitting next to MacCrea, aware that he had maneuvered her into accepting this situation. Why hadn't she been smart enough to see it coming? Why had she allowed it to happen? Why hadn't she recognized that he was up to his old tricks? He knew that where Eden was concerned, she was vulnerable. As yet, he just didn't know why. And she couldn't let him find out.
"Are you staying at this motel, too?" Eden asked MacCrea, the two of them carrying on the only conversation at the table.
"I sure am."
"So are we. When are you going? We're leaving tomorrow. We've been gone a long time. Daddy is really going to be happy to see us when we get back. Isn't he, Mommy?"
"He certainly will." Unconsciously she twisted the wedding band on her ring finger. The instant she noticed MacCrea's glance shift to her hand, she realized what she was doing and reached again for her coffee cup. "And we'll be glad to see him, too, won't we?" She smiled at Eden, forcing an enthusiasm into her voice that she was far from feeling.
"You bet!"
When the waitress came out of the kitchen, balanced on her tray was a large goblet filled with vanilla ice cream covered by a layer of chocolate fudge and crowned with a tall swirl of whipped cream, sprinkled with nuts and topped by a red cherry.
"Look at the size of that sundae. Are you sure you can eat it all?" Abbie asked skeptically as she scooted Eden's chair closer to the table.
"Uh huh, I'm a big girl."
"It looks bigger than you," MacCrea remarked when the waitress set the sundae down on the table in front of her, but Eden corrected that problem by kneeling on her chair.
"Can I eat the cherry first, Mommy?" She picked up the long spoon, its length ungainly in her small hand.
"Yes. Just pay attention and don't get that sundae all over your good clothes," Abbie cautioned, knowing she was probably wasting her breath.
"I think I'll save it for later." She plucked the cherry from the whipped cream by its stem and laid it on the table, then proceeded to wipe her sticky fingers on her dress.
"Use your napkin." Abbie pushed it closer to the goblet, conscious of MacCrea's low chortle.
When Eden plunged her spoon into the sundae to dig out her first biteful, an avalanche of melted ice cream, thick chocolate, and whipped topping spilled over the rim of the goblet on the opposite side. Eden caught it with her fingers and pushed most of it back inside the glass, then licked the mixture off her fingers.
"Mmm, it's good."
"It looks good," MacCrea agreed.
"Want a bite?" Eden offered him the huge glob of ice cream and fudge on her spoon, then somehow managed to get it to her own mouth without dropping it when he politely refused.
Within minutes, Eden had almost as much of the sundae all over her face and hands and the table as she did in her stomach. Abbie desperately wished that her daughter was still young enough to be spoon-fed. Watching her eat by herself was an exercise in patience, and Abbie's was already sorely tested. She looked over at Ben, seeking a diversion.
"How was the pie?"
"It was good but not as good as your momma's."
"How is your mother?" MacCrea asked.
"She's fine." Abbie held out her cup as the waitress brought the coffee pot to the table.
"Do you know my grandma?" Eden spooned another partially melted mouthful of ice cream from the goblet, half of it dripping across the table as she tried to aim it at her mouth.
"Yes."
"I don't get to see her very much." Eden released a very adultlike sigh and absently stirred the melting remains of her sundae. As she scooped out another dripping spoonful, she glanced over at MacCrea and paused, with the spoon in midair. "Look, Mommy." Wonder was in her voice as she used the dripping spoon to point at him. "MacCrea has a crooked finger just like me."
For a split second Abbie was paralyzed by Eden's pronouncement as she stared at the little finger curling away from the handle of the coffee cup MacCrea was holding. Then she noticed the puzzled blankness in his expression and realized the significance of the comparison hadn't registered yet. There was still a chance it wouldn't if she acted fast.
"Eden, you're dripping ice cream all over the table." Quickly she grabbed the small hand holding the long spoon, covering the little finger so MacCrea couldn't see the way it arched, too. "Pay attention to what you're doing. Just look at the mess you've made.
"But, Mommy, did you see his finger?"
Abbie talked right over Eden's question, praying that MacCrea wouldn't hear it. "I think that's enough ice cream for you, little lady. You're just playing in it now." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw MacCrea set his coffee cup down a frown deepening the lines in his forehead.
"What's she talking about?"
She ignored his question as she took the spoon from Eden's sticky fingers and put it back in the sundae dish, then reached for a paper napkin. "I bet you have more ice cream on you than in you. You've got chocolate from ear to ear. I wouldn't be surprised if you have it in your hair. And look, you've spilled some on your good dress. What am I going to do with you?"
Abbie went through the motion of wetting the napkin in her water glass and attempting to wipe the worst of the sticky residue from her daughter's face and hands. But Eden knew she had MacCrea's attention and centered all of hers on him. When she opened her mouth to say something to him, Abbie immediately smothered the attempt with the wet napkin, pretending to wipe the chocolate ring around her lips.
When the napkin had rapidly shredded into nothing, Abbie stood up and scooped Eden off the chair into her arms. "I think we'd better go to our room and get you cleaned up. It's past your bedtime anyway." Ignoring the objections Eden attempted to raise, she turned to MacCrea and met his narrowed gaze. Her heart was thumping so loudly she was certain he could hear it. "I'm sorry," she said without knowing why she was apologizing to him, of all people. "Thank Mr. Wilder for the sundae, Eden, and tell him good-bye. We'll be leaving early in the morning, so we won't be seeing him again." She hoped.
"But—"
"Eden." Abbie shot her a warning look, but an instant later she had trouble swallowing as MacCrea straightened from his chair and towered in front of them.
"Thank you for the hot-fudge sundae, Mr. Wilder," Eden mumbled dejectedly.
"It was my pleasure. Maybe next time your mother won't spirit you away before you get a chance to finish it."
"Yeah." But Eden didn't sound too hopeful.
"Good-bye, Eden." As MacCrea extended his hand to her daughter, Abbie felt her heart leap into her throat.
"No, you'd better not," Abbie intervened quickly. "You'll get all sticky." She darted a frantic look at Ben. "Are you coming?"
But MacCrea paid no attention to Ben. Instead he stared at the small hand on Abbie's shoulder. Abbie didn't have to look to know that, at rest, the first joint of Eden's little finger always jutted upward at a very noticeable angle. When his glance swung to her, he appeared puzzled and faintly stunned. Abbie held her breath, her mind racing, trying to think what she could do when he finally figured out the truth. Ben stepped in to distract him.
"I wish to thank you for the pie and coffe
e. It was good."
"You're welcome," he replied absently.
"Yes, good night, Mr. Wilder, and thank you for the coffee." Abbie moved away from him before she finished talking.
"Wait a minute." He started to come after her, but the waitress detained him.
"Your check, sir."
Once outside the coffee shop, Abbie broke into a running walk, hurrying down the long corridor to her motel room with Eden jouncing on her hip. She looked back once to make certain Ben was the only one behind her. But she knew she wouldn't feel safe until she and Eden were inside the room and the door was shut and locked.
Her hand shook when she tried to insert the room key in the lock. Impatiently she set Eden down so she could use both hands. She glanced up briefly when Ben joined her. Beyond him she saw MacCrea striding purposefully toward them.
"He knows," Ben said.
She knew he was right, and knowing it just made her all the more angry—angry at herself, Ben, MacCrea, Eden. . . everyone. Why did he have to find out? Why couldn't he have just stayed away? Finally she got the key to turn in the lock and pushed the door open, but she made no attempt to shove Eden inside. It was too late. MacCrea was there. Still she refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge him.
"I think you'd better take Eden with you, Ben, so Abbie and I can talk privately," MacCrea stated, his voice clipped and hard.
"We have nothing to discuss," Abbie snapped.
"We damned well do, and you know it." His voice rumbled at an ominously low pitch as if he were controlling his anger with difficulty. "If you want to have it out right here and now, that's fine with me."
Left with no alternative, Abbie gave Eden a little push in Ben's direction. "Go with Ben, honey. He'll help you wash up. I'll come by to get you in a few minutes." She waited until Ben had Eden securely by the hand, then she pivoted and entered her motel room, MacCrea following a step behind her.
As the door slammed shut with reverberating force, the blood ran strong and fast through her veins, pumping adrenaline through her system. She had hoped this confrontation with MacCrea would never be necessary, but now that it was here, she was ready for it—in an odd way, almost eager for it.
"She's my daughter, isn't she?" MacCrea accused.
Abbie whirled around to face him. "She's my daughter!"
"You know damned well what I mean." He was angry, impatient, his lips thin and tight the muscles working along his jaw. "I'm her father."
"You're nothing to her. You're just some stranger who bought her a sundae. Dobie's the only father she knows. It's his name that's on her birth certificate."
"That's why you married him, isn't it? The poor sucker probably doesn't even know the way you've tricked him and used him, does he?"
Fighting a twinge of guilt, Abbie looked away and asserted forcefully, "My baby needed a father and a name."
"Dammit, she already had one! She had me! She had the right to my name!" Grabbing her by the shoulders, MacCrea forced her to look at him. "You damned little fool, you know I wanted to marry you. I loved you."
"But I didn't want you—or any more of your deceit and half-truths." It was odd how fresh the pain of his betrayal felt to her at that moment. The ache was as real as if it all had happened yesterday.
"But you wanted my baby."
"I wanted my baby."
He dug his fingers into her shoulders. "Deny it all you want, but the fact remains, I am her father. You can't change that."
"What difference does it make?" she argued. "Twenty minutes ago you had no idea you even had a daughter. Why is Eden suddenly so important to you now? You don't even know her."
"Whose fault is that? Or are you going to try to blame me for that, too?"
"She doesn't need you. There's nothing you can give her that she doesn't already have. She's happy and loved, well fed and clothed. She has a home and a family, people who care about her. You'd just hurt and confuse her. You'd never bring her anything but pain."
"You're talking about yourself, Abbie," MacCrea accused. "And I don't mean just our relationship, but the way things were with your father. It's that damned jealousy again."
"Maybe it is. Maybe I don't think any child needs a father, least of all men like you and my daddy."
"Hasn't it ever occurred to you that your father might have loved both you and Rachel? That, just maybe, he behaved the way he did because he was torn with guilt?"
"You don't know anything about it! How can you defend him?" She struggled briefly, trying to shake off the numbing grip of his hands, but he wouldn't let her go. He forced her to stand there and face him.
"I know how I felt walking down that corridor, for the first time realizing that I had a daughter and thinking that I should have been there when she was born; that I should have been there hen she took her first step and said her first words; I should have been there when she cried. But I wasn't and I couldn't be. And I felt guilty even though it wasn't my fault. If I feel that way, imagine how your father must have felt over Rachel."
"That's not the way it was." She resented his attempt to defend a situation he knew nothing about, especially when she knew he was doing it to satisfy his own selfish desires. "He loved her, not me. All I ever got from him was a reflection of his love for her because I looked like her."
"He didn't love you both?"
"No," Abbie retorted sharply, too incensed by this entire conversation to think straight. "You can't love two people at the same time."
"You love Eden, don't you?"
"Yes."
"And your mother?"
"Of course." The instant the words were out of her mouth, Abbie saw the trap he was setting for her.
"And Ben?" he challenged. She glared at him, refusing to answer and damn herself with her own words. "Admit it, Abbie. You love him, too."
She couldn't deny it, and her continued silence seemed to be an act of betrayal against the one person who had always been there when she needed someone. She looked down at the gold buckle on MacCrea's belt and grudgingly replied, "In a way."
"In a way," MacCrea repeated her phrase with satisfaction. "That makes three people you love. How do you explain that?"
"It's not the same," she said defensively.
"No, it isn't. You love all three of them equally but differently, don't you?"
"Yes," Abbie said, quickly seizing on his explanation.
"Then isn't it possible your father loved you and Rachel equally but differently?"
"You always twist everything around." She felt strangled by the bitter anger that gripped her throat as she lifted her gaze to the ruthless lines in his face. "She was his favorite. He was always giving her things."
"Maybe he was trying to make up for the fact he wasn't there all the time. Maybe he was trying to cram all his affection into a few short hours."
"Look at the money he left her, while Momma and I ended up with practically nothing!" Tears burned her eyes until she could hardly see—hot tears caused by the pain of wounds that had never truly healed.
"For your information, he set up that trust fund for Rachel when she was born. That money was in place long before he got into financial trouble."
"How would you know?" Abbie jeered.
"I asked," MacCrea shot back.
"Then why didn't he do the same for me?"
"Probably because you were his legitimate heir and he figured you would end up with everything he had. Which, at the time, was probably considerably more than the money he placed in trust for Rachel. And maybe, just maybe, he did it because he knew what a spiteful little bitch you were going to turn out to be, and he knew that if he didn't make provisions for Rachel, you'd see to it she never got a cent—the same way you tried to keep me from finding out about my child."
"You're lying!" She struck out blindly with her fists, briefly landing blows on his arms and chest. Cursing under his breath, MacCrea hauled her roughly against him, using her own body to pin her arms against his chest. "Let me go!" Abbie con
tinued to struggle, however ineffectually.
"I ought to. . .” But he didn't bother to finish the threat, instead using action to silence her.
Abbie made a vain attempt to elude the downward swoop of his head, but he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked it, arching her neck back as far as it would go. As he kissed her, his teeth ground against hers and his mustache scratched her skin. The brutal assault was deliberate attempt to inflict pain. Abbie refused even to think of it as a kiss. She'd known too many of MacCrea's kisses to confuse this with one. The pain was in such contrast to the exquisite pleasure she had once known in his arms that Abbie couldn't help recalling the latter. He wanted to hurt her, but Abbie knew it was her heart that ached the most. She tried desperately to remember how much she hated him and forget the sensation of his heart thudding beneath her hands.
Breaking off the assault, he dragged his mouth across her cheek and down to her throat. "Damn you, Abbie," he muttered thickly against her skin. "Damn you to hell for doing this to me."
At first she didn't know what he was talking about as her bruised lips throbbed painfully. Then she felt the rubbing stroke of his hand on her spine—the beginnings of a caress. No! Abbie thought wildly. She couldn't, she wouldn't let herself be fooled by him again.
With a violent, wrenching twist of her body, she broke free of his arms, catching him by surprise. When he took a step toward her, she backed up two. "Stay away from me. I hate you. I can't stand the sight of you! Get out of here! Just get out!"
"You're good at that, aren't you? You've had plenty of practice at ordering people out of your life."
"Get out." She wanted to throw something at him, but instinctively she knew that would only provoke him.
"I'll leave." But he made no move toward the door. Unconsciously Abbie held her breath, not wanting to say anything that might change his mind. "But this isn't over."
"It was over more than six years ago."
"You're forgetting: there's still the matter of my daughter that needs to be resolved."
"Stay away from her." Abbie tried not to give into the sense of panic she felt.
