TrustMe

by Unknown

  “Jesus!” He raked a hand impatiently through his dark hair. “Do you think, just for a minute, you could try to be rational here? The truth of the matter is I tried being up-front with you, but you wouldn’t have it. So what was I supposed to do? Turn my back, walk away, leave you to starve in that ratty little garret where you were already three months late on the damn rent?”

  “How on earth do you know I was…Oh, my God.” She raised a suddenly shaking hand to her chest as she stared at him in horror. “Oh, my God. I should’ve known it was too good to be true. There never was a cousin Ivan, was there? It was you. It was you all along.”

  His sudden stillness spoke volumes and then he exploded into motion. “You’re right!” Pacing away, he whirled to look her square in the face. “I arranged for you to get that money. Just like I arranged for you to get the job. But no matter what you want to believe, it was never about me trying to control you. What I will agree, is that I should’ve told you—and I should’ve done it long before now.”

  “So why didn’t you!”

  “Because, again, I was trying to look out for your best interests. Once I got to know you and we started to feel this…connection…I knew what I’d done wasn’t going to be easy for you to accept. So I decided to wait, rather than risk ruining tonight for you.”

  In that instant, with her world crumbling around her, she lost the desperate grip she had on her temper. “Would you listen to yourself? You knew, you decided. You thought it would be best to spare me the hardship of the truth.” Sick with betrayal, she finally lashed out. “Gosh, Gabe—how very Cal Morgan of you!”

  His face went white.

  And just like that, her anger vanished, washed away by a profound grief for what she’d believed they had—and what she’d just lost. Yet she still had a spark of pride and she’d rather die than admit to him that her heart was breaking.

  “Whatever connection we did or didn’t have, it’s over. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear from you. What I do want is for you to leave me alone. Do you hear me, Gabriel? Please. Just leave me the hell alone.”

  Then no longer caring what anyone else might think, she turned and wrenched open the door, picked up the full skirt of her gown and fled down the corridor. She sped across the lobby, dashed out under the portico and along the curving sidewalk, her only thought to put as much distance between them as she could manage.

  She was halfway down the street when it dawned on her she didn’t have her purse.

  Not that it mattered, she realized a little hysterically, slowing as she fought to catch her breath. What good would it do her? The ten dollars she’d tucked inside it would barely begin to cover the cost of a cab ride to Gabe’s. And even if she used it for the bus, between transfers and the reduced nighttime schedule it would take her well over an hour to get out to his place.

  Where Gabriel would no doubt be waiting for her. And even if somehow by the grace of God he wasn’t, what then? Did she pack a bag, call a cab, go to a hotel where with his resources he’d have no trouble tracking her down if he chose?

  And why should she believe Mr. Master-of-everyone-else’s-universe wouldn’t do precisely that? She’d have to be crazy to think he’d leave her alone simply because she’d asked.

  But where else could she go? What other choices did she have?

  God help her, she didn’t know—she couldn’t think. The only thing that seemed clear was that she couldn’t stay here, she thought, stumbling a little as she resumed her pell-mell pace and the first tears began to track down her face.

  By the time a gleaming white limo with darkly tinted windows swept past her moments later, she was a mess. She’d cried her mascara into rivulets down her cheeks, her hair was coming down and her feet, which she’d bared rather than risk breaking her neck in her high heels, were bruised and filthy.

  God. Could this night get any worse?

  Up ahead, the limo abruptly veered toward the curb, stopped, then slowly reversed. Her heart began to pound and she picked up her skirts to run—until a rear window glided down and she recognized the occupant.

  When the door promptly swung open seconds later and the figure beckoned her with an autocratic crook of a hand, she only hesitated a second. Then with a sob of relief she crossed the sidewalk and climbed in.

  Seconds later, the vehicle rolled away and disappeared into the inky Denver night.

  Eleven

  G abe knew instinctively from the insistent peal of the doorbell that whoever was pushing the ringer wasn’t Mallory.

  Yet apparently his heart wasn’t as certain as his head or he wouldn’t feel such a crushing mix of disappointment and despair when he strode down his front hall, yanked open the door and found Cooper standing there.

  For a second it was almost more than he could bear.

  Then he got a grip, reminding himself that he’d brought this on himself. And that he’d get through it since the only other alternative was giving up—and that was no option at all. Still, with the exception of his unfulfilled longing for one special woman, he was no more in the mood for company now than he had been for the past six days.

  Erasing all expression from his face, he considered his brother. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I came by to give you a report on the Landow search.”

  “Have we found him yet?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” He inclined his head a fraction. “Thanks for the update.” Giving the door a firm shove, he turned away.

  “Aw, hell.” In a move Cooper never could’ve pulled off if Gabe had been anywhere near the top of his game, the younger man shot his foot into the rapidly dwindling gap, slapped his hand against the glossy wood panel and shoved, blowing past him into the house. “That wasn’t exactly the truth,” he said, prudently backing out of reach a few feet down the hallway. “The real reason I’m here is that everyone’s worried about you.”

  For maybe half a second, Gabe considered teaching his brother a lesson about the consequences of shoving in where you weren’t wanted. In the next instant, the irony of the thought struck him, and his mouth twisted. Jesus. After the way he’d screwed things up with Mallory—

  Reining in his emotions, he closed the door. “Everybody being…?”

  For the first time Coop looked faintly apologetic. “Well, all of us guys…but mainly Lilah and Gen.”

  “And what? You drew the short straw?”

  “Something like that.”

  It figured. The last time one of his brothers’ wives had gotten worried, he’d been the one in Cooper’s place—and wound up taking a roundhouse to the face from Taggart for his trouble.

  “Goddammit,” he said but without any heat, padding past Cooper as he headed down the hall. “You’ve got five minutes to say or do whatever you have to so you can go back and convince the girls I’m fine and they need to just leave this alone.”

  “Yeah, well…” Trailing behind, Cooper followed him into the family room. His sharp gaze skimmed the pillow and blanket piled on the floor, the dishes sitting across the way in the sink and the newspapers littering the bar, before coming back to Gabe’s face. “I don’t know,” he said dubiously. “You’re looking a little rough around the edges here, bro.”

  He ran a hand over his unshaven cheek, glanced down at his denim-clad legs, then shrugged. “So I’m taking a few days off. Big deal. I’m allowed.”

  “Well, sure, but…” Walking into the kitchen, Cooper poured himself a cup of hours-old coffee, took a sip, then grimaced. “You want to talk about it?” he said quietly, dumping the contents of the mug into the sink.

  When Gabe just looked at him, Cooper sighed. “Look, Deke says when he ran into you at Jilly’s Java Sunday morning you were still in your tux and looking pretty grim. And Dom says Mallory sent word to Lilah that same afternoon that she was going to be unreachable for a while but would be looking for a new place to live. Which Lilah admits she passed on to you. Then you don’t come into work…Come on, Ga
be. A two-year-old with one of those big fat crayons could complete this picture.”

  Gabe felt a muscle jump in his cheek. Most of the time he genuinely liked his family. Then there were moments like this when they made him feel as hemmed in as a tiger stuffed into a cat carrier.

  Still, there didn’t seem to be any way out of the conversation but to be honest. “Okay. So we had a fight. We’ll work it out.” Or so he hoped with every inch of his being.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Except give me some space? No.” Hell, there was nothing he could do—despite the fact that sitting on his hands was taking an ever-increasing toll with each day, each hour, each minute that passed.

  But that didn’t change the hard truth—that whatever happened next was up to Mallory.

  Of course, that wasn’t how he’d felt Saturday night, he reflected.

  He still wasn’t sure how long he’d stood in that meeting room, cut to the bone that she would ever compare him to her father. At the same time his gut had screamed at him to go after her, chase her down, make her listen to reason.

  Eventually, his sanity—or so he’d considered it at the time—had prevailed. Deciding they both needed some space to cool off, he’d made his way to the hotel bar where he’d nursed a scotch and asked himself why he was surprised by what had just happened. Hadn’t he predicted she’d overreact exactly the way she had? Wasn’t that precisely why he’d held off telling her in the first place?

  Hell, yes. But she was an intelligent woman, and once she calmed down and realized she was being unreasonable, he’d been confident they’d get past that particular bump in the road.

  That line of thinking had sustained him all the way home. And though he’d felt a distinct uneasiness when he’d crossed the threshold and realized there was nobody there but him, he’d shrugged it off, as well, figuring one of her coworkers had seen her distress at the hotel and taken her in for the night.

  By dawn, when he’d gone out to get coffee and run into Deke, he’d been starting to feel less sanguine. And as the morning had progressed without any word from her, he’d found himself wandering restlessly through his too-quiet house, seeing little traces of her everywhere—in the trio of lacy panties folded next to his socks in the laundry room, the book she’d left on the nightstand next to the bed, the bouquet of daisies on the kitchen table.

  And he’d started to wonder: What if she’d actually meant it when she said she never wanted to see him again?

  But that simply wasn’t acceptable. He was a man who made things happen and he wasn’t ready for their relationship to end. Hell, they were just getting started.

  Still, like a fatal crack in a faulty foundation, with that first doubt he’d felt something inside him shift. Then while he’d still been attempting to cobble things back together, Lilah had called to tell him Mallory was safe and that he shouldn’t worry.

  Then she’d quietly added she was sorry and hung up.

  And standing there in his kitchen clutching his silent phone, he’d realized that was it. There hadn’t been a word about Mallory returning. Not a hint where she was. No message for him at all.

  Still like a sharp stick in the eye, he’d gotten the point.

  We’re through and I’m not coming back.

  Desolation had slammed into him, nearly taking him out at the knees. Sliding onto a bar stool, he’d dimly realized that despite what he’d told Mallory a couple of weeks ago, the only other time he’d felt this sort of pain had been nearly two decades earlier. That was the day he’d finally accepted that while the father he’d worshipped was still breathing and walking around, inside his dad was as dead as the woman they’d buried nearly two years before.

  Yet that couldn’t be right, Gabe had thought, the crack in the bedrock of what he believed about himself widening into a crevasse. Because he’d loved his father with all a firstborn son’s fervor, while his feelings for Mallory…

  Sweet Jesus. The truth had blown through him like a howitzer blast, practically knocking him off the stool.

  Because the truth was he’d been pretty much a goner the first time he’d seen her at that very first party all those years ago.

  Reeling, all he’d been able to think was that he had to find her. That no matter what it took, he had to track her down and tell her how he felt. That she had a right to know his heart before she made any decisions about their future.

  He’d climbed to his feet, scooped up his keys—only to falter as the last thing she’d said to him had suddenly sounded in his head as clearly as if she’d actually been in the room.

  I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear from you. What I want is for you to leave me alone.

  And that’s when it had dawned on him that if he was ever to have a hope of regaining her trust, he had to back off. That he had to give her space and trust her to make her own decision about their future.

  So that’s what he was doing, even though the waiting was killing him.

  “Listen,” he said, plucking the cup out of Cooper’s hand and herding him out of the kitchen and back down the hall. “I’ll be fine. When have you ever known me not to be? I just need some time to myself for a change. Tell everyone I’m taking a little vacation. God knows I’m overdue.”

  “Well, yeah, that’s true.” Despite his agreement and the fact that he was allowing Gabe to ease him out the door, Cooper’s gaze was still troubled. “Just—take care of yourself, all right?”

  “You got it,” Gabe replied. Standing at the door, he watched for a moment as his brother got into his red SUV, pulled out of the drive and sped off down the street, passing a white limo coming the other way.

  Then he turned around and went back inside. To wait.

  Mallory glanced out the limousine window for the hundredth time.

  “Good grief, my dear, quit looking so nervous,” Abigail Anson Sommers said tartly. “As I’ve already told you, there’s no need to rush into this. You’re welcome to stay at Cedar Hill as long as you’d like.”

  “I know. And I appreciate your offer more than I can say,” she said, turning back to the elegant old lady. “But I need to do this. I need to try, at least.”

  Because Abigail’s offer notwithstanding, she really didn’t have another choice, she thought as the limo slowed for the final turn into Gabriel’s driveway and her already jittery stomach bounced up into her throat.

  Not if she was going to have a hope of getting on with her life.

  For nearly a week now she’d waited for Gabriel, expecting him to marshal all his impressive resources, do whatever it took to track her down so he could tell her, in his big, bold, take-charge kind of way, that he didn’t intend to let her walk away.

  Only he hadn’t shown up.

  Not the first couple of days, when she’d been so angry and hurt that she’d easily used up a lifetime allotment of curses and tears.

  Not during the next two days, either, when her emotions had finally settled enough for her to get some perspective on what had happened between them, forcing her to face some hard truths. Not only about Gabe but about herself, as well.

  And heaven knew, there’d been no sign of him in the past forty-eight hours, as she’d grown more and more restless and impatient while wondering what on earth was keeping him.

  The woman she’d been three months ago would have concluded his absence meant he didn’t care. But the woman she was now—who through recent trials and accomplishments was stronger, steadier, possessed of some genuine, hard-won confidence and a growing sense of self-worth—refused to believe it.

  And that was the Mallory who’d awakened this morning to a startling thought. What if Gabriel had actually taken her angry, overwrought, parting shots to heart? What if all this time he’d stayed away because that’s what she’d told him she wanted?

  At first she’d blown it off, telling herself not to be ridiculous. People said things they didn’t mean in the heat of an argument all the time. As savvy as he was—and as secu
re in his masculinity—certainly after the past few weeks he had to know she cared about him.

  Except…She’d never actually told him. Not straight-out. And the more she’d thought about it, the clearer it had become that as much as she missed him, and despite the sharp little thorn of insecurity his failure to appear had lodged near her heart, she’d needed this time.

  She’d needed it to examine how she felt. Needed it to decide just what it was that she wanted.

  “Well if you feel so strongly, then obviously you must see this through,” Abigail said briskly, reaching over to give Mallory’s hand a quick squeeze as the limo purred to a stop. “Just one further piece of advice, child. Don’t try. Do.”

  Oh my. Was it her imagination or had Lilah’s elegant, autocratic, octogenarian grandmother just channeled Yoda?

  Unbidden, a spurt of laughter squeezed past the lump in Mallory’s throat and impulsively she leaned over to press a kiss to Abigail’s paper-thin cheek.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Sommers. For everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you. If you hadn’t rescued me off the street and taken me home with you…” She paused to steady her voice. “I’ll never be able to repay you.”

  “Oh bosh!” Abigail said brusquely.

  As the chauffeur opened the door, she shooed Mallory away. But not before Mallory saw the hint of moisture sheening the older woman’s eyes.

  “Good heavens, Clarence,” Abigail went on imperiously, addressing her grizzled employee, “this younger generation is appallingly sentimental, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, madam,” he said solemnly, giving Mallory a wink before handing her out of the car and escorting her to the front door. “You’ll do fine, miss,” he said, tipping his cap.

  Then the limo backed out of the drive, and impulsively trying the knob, she found to her surprise that the door was unlocked.