Donovan's Child

by Christine Rimmer

  Something flashed in those steel-blue eyes of his. She sensed that he actually might give her an answer.

  But then he only shook his head. “Enough. I’ll take that memory stick.” He held out his hand.

  She kept her lips pressed together over a sarcastic remark and laid the stick in his open palm.

  He closed his fingers around it. “Ben will show you to your rooms. Get comfortable—but not too comfortable.” He backed and turned and wheeled away from her, disappearing through a door beyond the looming edifice that served as his desk.

  “Abilene?” said a quiet voice behind her. She turned to face Ben Yates, who was slim and tall and self-contained, with black hair and eyes to match. “This way.”

  She grabbed her bag off the back of her chair and followed him.

  The house was a marvel—like all of Donovan McCrae’s designs. Built into the side of a rocky cliff, it had seemed to Abilene, as she approached it earlier, to materialize out of the desert: a cave, a fortress, a palace made of rock—and a house—all at the same time.

  It was built around a central courtyard. The back half nestled into the cliff face. It had large glass doors and floor-to-ceiling windows all along the courtyard walls, giving access to the outside and great views of the pool and the harsh, beautiful landscaping. The facade side had windows and glass doors leading to the courtyard, as well. It also offered wide vistas of the wild, open desert.

  Abilene’s rooms were on the cliff side.

  Ben ushered her in ahead of him. “Here we are.”

  The door was extra wide. The one to the bedroom was wide, as well. She ran her hand down the rough-hewn doorframe.

  Ben said, “Donovan had all the rooms made wheelchair-accessible, so it would be possible for him to get around anywhere in the house.”

  She set her leather tote on a long table by the door and made a circuit. First of the sitting room, then of the bedroom. She looked into the walk-in closet where her own clothes were already hanging, and also the bathroom with its open shower and giant sunken tub.

  The walls of the place seemed hewn of the rock face itself. And the furniture was rustic, made from twisted hunks of hardwood, starkly beautiful, like the desert landscape outside. French doors led out to the pool, and to the paths that wound through the courtyard.

  Donovan’s assistant waited for her near the door. “The pool is yours to use as long as you’re here. There’s also a large gym downstairs. Check with me if you want to work out there and I’ll give you a schedule. Donovan uses the gym several hours a day and prefers to do so alone. The desk, computer and drafting table you used today in the studio are yours whenever you need them. Anytime you’re hungry, the kitchen is to your left as you exit your rooms. Just keep going until you reach it. Or you can ring. Press the red button on the phone. The housekeeper will answer and see that you get anything you need.”

  “I know I’ll be very comfortable. Thank you.”

  “I had your suitcases unpacked for you.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “You assumed I would stay?”

  “I did, yes.”

  “I have to tell you, it was touch and go back there in the studio. Your boss can be rude.”

  Apparently, Ben felt no obligation to leap to Donovan’s defense. He spoke in his usual calm, unruffled tone. “Don’t let him run you off.”

  “I won’t. It’s a promise.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Did he almost smile? She couldn’t be sure. “Drinks at seven, just you and Donovan.”

  “That sounds really fun.” She said it deadpan.

  Ben took her meaning. “Only if you feel up to it. If you’d prefer, I can have something sent here, to your rooms.”

  “I definitely feel up to it.”

  “Excellent. If you follow either the courtyard breeze-way or the interior hall in either direction, you’ll eventually reach the front living room off the main entrance. Or you can simply cross the courtyard. It’s chilly out, but not too bad.”

  “I’m sure I can find my way.”

  “Good, then. If you need anything—”

  “I know. Press the red button on the house phone.”

  “I’ll see you at dinner.” He turned to go.

  “Ben?”

  He paused in the doorway, his back to her.

  “I had no idea Donovan was in a wheelchair.”

  A silence. And then, reluctantly, he turned to her again. “Yes. Well, he’s very protective of his privacy lately.”

  “A little communication goes a long way.”

  “You should be discussing this with him.”

  “Probably. What happened to him?”

  Ben frowned. She was sure he would blow her off—or tell her again to ask Donovan. But then he surprised her and gave it up. “You may have heard about the ice-climbing accident.”

  “Just that there was one.”

  “He fell several hundred feet. Both legs sustained multiple fractures. His right tibia was driven up through the knee joint into the thigh.”

  She forced herself not to wince. “So…it’s not his spine? I mean, he’s not paralyzed?”

  “No, he’s not paralyzed.”

  “Will he walk again?”

  “It’s likely. But with…difficulty—and I’ve said more than enough. Seven. Drinks in the front living area.”

  And he was gone.

  Abilene got out of her tired traveling clothes and jumped in the shower. In twenty minutes, she was freshened up and ready to go again. She considered exploring the house a little but decided to ask Donovan to show her around personally later. It might be a way to break the ice between them.

  If such a thing was possible. The man was as guarded as they came. She had her work cut out for her, to try to get to know him a little.

  Stretching out across the big bed, she stared up at the ceiling fixture, which consisted of tangled bits of petrified wood interwoven with golden globe-shaped lights that seemed strung on barbed wire. With a sigh, she let her eyes drift shut. Maybe what she really needed about now was a nice little nap….

  The faint sound of her cell ringing snapped her awake. She went to the sitting room to get it. The display read Mom.

  She answered. “I’m here. Safe. Don’t worry.”

  “Just what I needed to know. Your father sends his love.”

  “Love to him, too. Did Zoe and Dax get away all right?” Saturday, which had been New Year’s day, Abilene’s baby sister had married her boss and the father of her coming baby. The newlyweds were to have left for their honeymoon on Maui that morning.

  “They’re on their way,” her mother said. “Dax says to say hi to Donovan.” Zoe’s groom and Donovan were longtime acquaintances. “And your sister says to tell your new mentor that he’d better treat you right.”

  “I’ll give him the message—both of them,” Abilene promised.

  “Have you…spoken with him yet?” Aleta Bravo asked the question carefully. She knew how upset Abilene had been with the whole situation.

  “We spoke, yes. We…had words, I guess you could say. He was rude and dismissive. I was forced to tell him off.”

  “Should I be concerned?”

  “Not as of now. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “You can always simply come home, you know. It won’t be that difficult to find a place for yourself. You’re a Bravo. And you graduated at the top of your class.”

  “Mom. There are plenty of architects. But an architect who’s worked closely with Donovan McRae, now that’s something else altogether. A fellowship like this—one-on-one with the best there is—it just doesn’t happen very often.”

  She considered adding that Donovan had been facing some serious challenges lately and possibly deserved a little slack for his thoughtless behavior. That he used a wheelchair now.

  But no. Ben had made it painfully clear that McRae didn’t want the world butting into his private business. She would respect his wishes. At least until she understood better what was going on
with him.

  Aleta said, “You’re determined to stay, then?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, then I suppose I won’t be changing your mind….”

  “No. You won’t.” And then, from her mother’s end of the line, faintly, she heard the deep rumble of her father’s voice.

  Aleta laughed. “Your father says to give him hell.”

  “I will. Count on it.”

  After she said goodbye to her mom, she checked in with Javier Cabrera.

  Javier was an experienced builder—and the first person she’d called when she got the summons yesterday from Ben. He owned his own company, Cabrera Construction, and had been kind enough to hire Abilene to work as a draftsperson on a few of his projects over the endless months she’d been waiting to get started on the fellowship. He’d even allowed her to consult with him at his building sites, giving her the chance to gain more hands-on experience in construction. He had become not only her friend, but something of a mentor as well.

  His connections to her family were long-standing and complicated. Once the Bravos and the Cabreras had been mortal enemies. But now, in the past few years, the two families seemed to have more in common than points of conflict.

  “Abby,” Javier said warmly when he answered the phone. “I was wondering about you.”

  “I’ll have you know I have made it safely to Donovan McRae’s amazing rock house in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Did he tell you how sorry he was for all the time he made you wait and wait?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “You get in your car and you come back to SA. I have work for you. Plenty of work.”

  She smiled at the driftwood and barbed-wire creation overhead. “You’re good to me.”

  “I know talent. You will go far.”

  “You always make me feel better about everything.”

  “We all need encouragement.” He sounded a little sad. But then, Javier was sad. He was still deeply in love with his estranged wife, Luz.

  Abilene confided that Donovan had said her design was crap.

  Javier jumped to her defense, as she had known that he would. “Don’t listen to him. Your design is excellent.”

  “My design is…workmanlike. It needs to be better than that.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself.”

  “I have to be hard on myself. I want to be the best some day.”

  “Stand tall,” he said. “And call me any time you need to talk to someone who understands.”

  “You know I will.”

  They chatted for a bit longer. When she hung up, it was ten minutes of seven. She combed her hair and freshened her lip gloss and walked across the courtyard to the front of the house.

  Donovan was waiting for her.

  He sat by the burled wood bar, watching, as she approached the French doors from the courtyard.

  She wore a slim black skirt, a button-down shirt with a few buttons left undone and a long strand of jade-colored beads around her neck. Round-toed high heels showed off her shapely legs, and her thick chestnut hair fell loose on her slim shoulders.

  She pushed open one of the doors and stepped inside as if she owned the place. There was something about her that had him thinking of old movies, the ones made way back in the Great Depression. Movies in which the women were lean and tall and always ready with a snappy comeback.

  From that first moment in the afternoon, when Ben ushered her into the studio, he had felt…annoyed. With her. With the project. With the world in general. He wasn’t sure exactly why she annoyed him. Maybe it was all the energy that came off her, the sense of purpose and possibility that seemed to swirl around her like a sudden, bracing gust of winter wind.

  Donovan didn’t want bracing. What he wanted was silence. Peace. To be left alone.

  But he had chosen her, sight unseen, by the promise in the work she’d submitted, before it all went to hell. And he would, finally, follow through on his obligation to the Foundation people. And to her.

  They were doing this thing.

  She spotted him across the room. Paused. But only for a fraction of a second. Then she kept coming, her stride long and confident.

  He poured himself a drink and set down the decanter of scotch. “What can I get you?”

  “Whatever you’re having.” She nodded at the decanter. “That’s fine.”

  “Scotch? Don’t women your age prefer sweet drinks?” Yeah. All right. It was a dig.

  She refused to be goaded. “Seriously. Scotch is fine.”

  So he dropped ice cubes into a crystal glass, poured the drink and gave it to her, placing it in her long-fingered, slender hands. They were fine hands, the skin supple, the nails unpolished and clipped short. Useful hands.

  She sipped. “It’s good. Thanks.”

  He nodded, gestured in the direction of a couple of chairs and a sofa. “Have a seat.” She turned and sauntered to the sofa, dropping to the cushions with artless ease.

  He put his drink between his ruined legs and wheeled himself over there, rolling into the empty space between the chairs. “Your rooms?”

  “They’re perfect, thanks. Is it just you and Ben here?”

  “I have a cook and a housekeeper—a married couple, Anton and Olga. And a part-time groundskeeper to look after the courtyard and the perimeter of the house.” He watched her cross her pretty legs, admired the perfection of her knees. At least she was a pleasure to look at. “Did you rest?”

  “I had a shower. Then my mother called. She told me to tell you that Dax sends his regards and my sister says you’d better be nice to me.”

  “Your sister and Dax…?”

  “They were married on Saturday. And left on their honeymoon this morning.”

  “I hope they’ll be very happy,” he said without inflection. “And then what did you do?”

  “Does that really matter to you?”

  “It’s called conversation, Abilene.”

  Her expression was mutinous, but she did answer his question. “After I talked to my mother, I called a…friend.”

  He took note of her hesitation before the word, friend. “A lover, you mean?”

  She laughed, a low, husky sound that irked him to no end. A laugh that said he didn’t intimidate her, not with his purposeful rudeness, nor with his too-personal questions. “No, not a lover. Javier is a builder. A really good one. I’ve been working for him over the past year, on and off. He also happens to be my half sister Elena’s father. And the adoptive father of my sister-in-law, Mercedes.”

  He sipped his scotch. “All right. I’m thoroughly confused.”

  “I kind of guessed that by the way your eyes glazed over.”

  “Maybe just a few more details…”

  She swirled her glass. Ice clinked on crystal. “My father and Javier’s wife, Luz, had a secret affair years ago.”

  “An adulterous affair, that’s what you’re telling me.”

  “Yes. That’s what I’m telling you. Luz was married to Javier. My dad to my mom. The affair didn’t last long.”

  “Did your father love your mother?”

  “He did—and he does. And I believe that Luz loved—and loves—Javier. But both of their marriages were troubled at the time.”

  “Troubled, how?”

  She gave him a look. One that said he’d better back off. “I was a toddler when all this happened. I don’t know all the details, all the deep inner motivations.”

  “Maybe you should ask your father.”

  “Maybe you should stop goading me.”

  “But I kind of like goading you.”

  “Clearly. Where was I? Wait. I remember. Javier—and everyone else except Luz—believed that Elena, my half sister, was his. But then, a few years back, the truth came out. It was…a difficult time.”

  “I would imagine.”

  “However, things are better now. Slowly, we’ve all picked up the pieces and moved on.” She uncrossed her legs, put her elbows on her knees and
leaned toward him. With the glass of scotch between her two fine hands, she studied him some more through those arresting golden-green eyes of hers. “So what did you do while I was busy talking on the phone?”

  “Mostly, I was downstairs in the torture chamber with one of my physical therapists.”

  “You mean the gym? You were working out?”

  “Torture really is a better word for it. Necessary torture, but torture nonetheless.” And he had no desire to talk about himself. “What made you become an architect?”

  She sank back against the sofa cushions. “Didn’t I explain all that in my fellowship submission?”

  As if he remembered some essay she had written to go with her original concept for the children’s center. As if he’d even read her essay. Essays were of no interest to him. It was the work that mattered. “Explain it again. Briefly, if you don’t mind.”

  She turned her head to the side, slid him a narrow look. He thought she would argue and he was ready for that—looking forward to it, really. But she didn’t. “Four of my seven brothers work for the family company, Bravo Corp. I wanted to be in the family business, too. BravoCorp used to be big into property development.”

  “And so you set out to become the family architect.”

  She gave him one slow, regal nod. “But since then, BravoCorp has moved more into renewable energy. And various other investments. There’s not much of a need for an architect at the moment.” She set her drink on the side table by the arm of the sofa. “What about your family?”

  He put on a fake expression of shock. “Haven’t you read my books?”

  She almost rolled her eyes. “What? That was a requirement?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, then all right. I confess. I have read your books. All four of them, as matter of fact. Will there be a quiz?”

  “Don’t tempt me. And if you’ve read my books, then you know more than anyone could ever want to know about my family.”

  “I’d like to hear it from you—briefly, if you don’t mind.” Those haunting eyes turned more gold than green as she gave his own words back to him.

  He bent to the side and set his drink on the floor, then straightened in the chair and braced his elbows on the swing-away armrests. “I hate all this getting-to-know-you crap.”