And she was miserable.
Inside her own room, Brenna leaned against the wood panel and closed her eyes. She was safe in her room--in here she could shut out the rest of the world. She pulled her shirttail out of her slacks and began to unbutton her blouse. She tried hard to suppress the tears that had gathered in her eyes.
And she hadn't thought this day could get any worse.
She stared at the mirror and shook her head as tears trickled down her cheeks. Look at her. She couldn't even have had the luck to appear her best. Taylor probably thought she'd really gone downhill since he'd last seen her, and he must be very much relieved he hadn't married her.
Brenna felt old tonight as she pulled on her red flannel nightgown. Old, ugly, and very much unloved. She'd been so busy surviving these last three years that she had pushed romance to the back of her mind. Now she needed desperately to be held, and there was no one to comfort her.
Climbing into bed, she wrapped her arms around herself. Why did life have to be so cruel? She had done nothing to deserve this. She had made the only choice she could have: protecting her sister and saving Taylor's reputation.
But now she felt as if she was being punished.
Between her exhaustion and tears, Brenna finally fell asleep.
But in her dreams she was held by a flaxen-haired man with the most magnificent, muscular body she'd ever seen, and when he glanced down at her, she was captured by Taylor's vibrant sky-blue eyes. The love that shone in their depths warmed the coldness in her chest, and she found peace at long last ... peace.
Taylor couldn't sleep.
He knew Carol was exhausted because she had fallen asleep quickly. Even the fact that he held a beautiful woman hadn't stopped that green-eyed devil from entering his mind and producing the familiar desire that ripped his guts apart.
After many restless hours, he finally gave up and slid out of bed. He crossed over to the window and stared at the sleepy little town where the sun was just coming up behind the mountains. He glanced back at Carol who was still fast asleep and decided there was no need to wake her just because demons plagued him.
Moving quietly about the room, he found a pair of chocolate brown slacks and slipped them on. Then he found his oatmeal-colored sweater and slid it over his head before returning to the window. He looked out again across the frozen stillness. A breeze played with the tree by his window and he heard the icy, pine needles clinking together like wind chimes. Hollow Ridge reminded him of a quaint village out of a good novel. The kind of place where life was gentle and slow, where neighbors all had time to speak to each other ... a place, he sighed, that didn't exist anymore.
Shaking off his sadness, he hoped at least it would be a good day for skiing. He would go out early and find another place to stay. He couldn't remain under the same roof as Brenna. The desire to murder her one minute and take her in his arms the next would stretch his nerves beyond endurance.
How could she have just stood there in the dining room looking as innocent as the pure white snow? When he knew she was spineless. He despised her for that. She hadn't even had the common decency to tell him face to face she was leaving him. She’d just sneaked away in the middle of the night. And the worse thing was he had never seen it coming. What a good little actress she'd been.
But he'd heard rumors that someone had seen Brenna leave town with another man. At first he'd refused to believe it, but when reality had sunk in, his heart had turned to stone. What other reason would she have had? She had put off their marriage because of her parents murder, and he could understand the strain she was under, but evidently his understanding hadn’t been enough and she’d turned to someone else.
A black lab running across the snow caught his attention, and automatically he thought of Brenna's thick, black tresses. Her hair was longer now, hanging to the middle of her back. He could shut his eyes and smell the French lavender fragrance she always wore. How he had loved to bury his face in that glorious mane. Clenching his jaw, he balled his fist and struck the side of the windowsill, splitting his knuckles in the process.
“Damn,” he swore under his breath and shook his hand. Good thing Carol was a sound sleeper, and she wore ear plugs so that nothing disturbed her sleep.
Quickly, he grabbed a handkerchief from the dresser and wrapped his bloody hand. After all this time, he still hadn't learned to control his temper where Brenna was concerned. She could send his blood raging through his body until he couldn't think straight. He could pretty much describe their passion the same way.
He located his shaving bag and after several useless minutes of fumbling through the contents he gave up finding a bandage. In order to get some gauze, he had little choice but to go downstairs.
The house was quiet as he moved down the steps. Evidently, no one else had a problem sleeping. After looking for bandages in the downstairs bathroom with no luck, Taylor headed for the kitchen.
Someone stirred behind the kitchen doors. Could it be Brenna? No. She said she owned the place, so she'd have a staff to do the cooking. Maybe the cook could help him out of his predicament. Already, he wondered how he was going to explain the accident to Carol. He hated to lie, but the truth would never do.
As he pushed open the door, the aroma of fresh coffee made him forget his hand. A good cup of hot coffee was just what he needed ... something to soothe the savage beast.
But it wasn't the cook who stood at the kitchen counter.
It was Brenna.
Stunned, he tried to close the door and leave before she could see him, but it was too late. The hinges squeaked, and Brenna swung around. Her black hair swirled over her shoulders and her bright green eyes shimmered as if she'd been crying. He wondered what or who could have produced her tears.
She looked so unhappy. It's none of your business, he reminded himself. He could tell she waited for him to speak.
Not finding the words, he could only stare at her. She returned his gaze as if she didn't believe he stood in front of her. And as far as he was concerned, she was much too close.
“Can I help you?” she finally asked.
“You've helped me way too much in the past,” he said scathingly. “What are you doing here?”
Brenna sighed. “This is my kitchen, Taylor. I live here.”
Her voice still held that touch of silkiness he always remembered. His body responded. Gritting his teeth, he felt like a fool standing in the doorway unable to speak ... unable to move. After several minutes, he remembered the reason he'd come downstairs. And it wasn't to see Brenna. But he needed help, he reminded himself. “M--My hand.” He held up the bloody rag, which made his cuts look twice as bad as they were.
Brenna gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. “My God, Taylor. Come here.”
She removed the rag then took his hand and held it over the sink, washing his split knuckles with warm water. “Does it hurt much?”
“Just a little.” Taylor managed not to laugh, for he'd ceased feeling any pain from the moment she touched him. She tenderly cleansed the wound, and he was glad she had her back to him so she couldn't see how her closeness affected him. Because he would not let her back into his life again. He bent his head and breathed in the French lavender scent that had been engraved in his mind.
“Here, wrap this cloth around your hand, and I'll go get some bandages.” She turned her head so fast he had to jerk himself back.
He watched her walk away, his eyes drawn to the sway of her hips encased in perfect-fitting jeans. He knew he needed to get his mind on something else even in spite of the way his body screamed for release. He couldn't very well run upstairs and take a cold shower. “You wouldn't consider sharing a little coffee, would you?”
Brenna smiled, which made her eyes glow as she came back to the counter, holding her medical supplies.
Taylor's jaw grew tight and his pulse drummed as she awakened long dormant feelings. How easy it would be to forget about the bad times. But he wouldn't let that happen ... not this time. However, he
couldn't help wondering just how happy she really was here. Had she married her lover? He looked down at her hand but saw no ring. Of course, it should be his ring on her hand, if anyone's, he reminded himself with cold revulsion. Her eyes held his a moment longer than they should, and that tender spot she'd always claimed surfaced and momentarily soothed his anger.
“I think I can manage to fix you a cup.” She picked up the pot and poured the steaming liquid into a mug, then proceeded to put cream in the coffee. “I believe it's one sugar and generous cream.”
“You remembered.”
Brenna didn't trust herself to respond to the tenderness in his voice. He was more like the old Taylor she knew.
The one she remembered.
The one she'd loved.
The one she had walked away from.
She damn sure didn't want to break out in another fit of tears as she dwelled over her past mistakes.
She was different.
Taylor was different.
Pushing her emotions aside, she cleared her throat and said, “Let me see your hand again.”
Taylor hesitantly obeyed. She tenderly held his hand, spreading out his fingers with hers as she carefully dried the blood. The heat from his skin penetrated her with a stab of intimacy. She reached in the first aid kit and picked up a brown bottle. “This is going to burn,” she warned as she saturated a cotton ball with iodine.
“I'm a big boy.” He grinned with the youthful charm she remembered all too well. Everything about him was too familiar. If only she could shut her eyes and erase the last three years. “I can take it,” he assured her.
“Are you sure?” Brenna dabbed the cut and watched him flinch. “Big boys can hurt, too.”
“Oh, I have, sweetheart. I have.”
She winced at the ache in his voice, but Brenna didn't look at him. And she didn't dare answer the questions she knew he longed to ask. All she needed was to have his mother on her back again. But worse, she couldn't bear to see the accusations in his eyes.
So she ignored him and instead wrapped the gauze meticulously around his knuckles, then followed it with white tape, concentrating on each little move she made, all the while telling herself he hadn't been hurt too deeply since he was planning to marry Carol.
Concentrate on something else, Brenna.
She looked at the bandage hand again and wondered if he needed stitches because the cuts had been deep, but she had done the best she could. “How did you do this?”
“Let's just say I was angry and tried to take it out on the wall.” His eyes raked over her contemptuously and his body stiffened. “Don't worry.” He laughed. “I was the only thing damaged.”
Brenna felt like she’d been slapped. How could he think she'd care more about the wall than him? His laughter had been replaced with the coldness she'd seen earlier. “It was because of me, wasn't it?” she whispered.
He nodded his head slowly while his crystal blue eyes bored a hole in her, and she could see the unanswered ‘whys’. She had effectively destroyed his love for her. She could see that he hated her now. Of all the things to happen, she’d never wanted this. Brenna had never wanted to hurt him. She had left Taylor a short note explaining she had to get out of town because of the scandal and she really wasn’t suppose to do that. No contact had been the agreement.
Why didn't he understand? She was dying inside--she was the one who had lost everything.
Biting her bottom lip, Brenna longed to explain to Taylor what had happened, but if his mother found out, Brenna would have to pay back the money his mother had given her for Lisa's surgery. It was all Brenna could do to make ends meet. They would lose their home, and there was no way in hell she could go back to River Run. Besides she knew what it was like to be betrayed by her father. No matter what she thought of Vivian Rothschild, she knew Taylor loved his mother and didn’t see the ugly side that Brenna had seen in the woman. She didn't want him to experience the distrust and confusion she'd been through.
She tore her gaze away from his. She couldn't stand to see his hurt and confusion, or worse, his anger. What could she say? God knows she wanted to make him feel better. She could see it was eating at him, but she couldn’t tell him why she left. It was too late.
He'd have to think the worst. However, if he'd really loved her, he would have known somewhere deep in his soul that she'd had a good reason for doing what she had.
“Brenna,” Taylor's whisper caught her off guard as he reached for her hand.
Tentatively, she moved her fingers to his. It wouldn't hurt to touch him this once. Why had he appeared when she thought she was finally over him? Brenna shivered. His warm touch stole her breath from her. Taylor tightened his hold and drew her toward him. Her traitorous body responded.
My God, h--he was going to kiss her.
Chapter Three
The back door opened and jarred them to their senses.
“My goodness, you're up bright and early,” Geraldine said as she slipped off her boots, using the bootjack by the back door. “What's wrong? Couldn't sleep?” she continued as she hung her coat on the peg without looking at Brenna.
Startled, Brenna jerked back, then straightened at the sound of Geraldine's no-nonsense voice coming through the door. Brenna shut her eyes for a moment as she tried to forget her uncontrollable actions. Did she have no character at all? Taylor belonged to someone else, she thought shamefully. She felt much like a child who had just been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing ... which, of course, she wasn't. If Geraldine had been one minute later, Brenna would have been in Taylor's arms, and then she would have been in a big mess. She didn't know whether to hug the woman or hit her.
“What's wrong, cat got your tongue?” Geraldine asked as she walked into the main part of the kitchen. “Oh,” she gave a little gasp. “I see you have company.”
“Yes ... I ... good ... damn!” Brenna frowned at her inability to utter more than a single word. How embarrassing. She didn't dare glance at Taylor. She knew her face had to be crimson. Was he also embarrassed? Or was he laughing at what a fool she'd been? He wasn't touching her anymore, but she felt his presence.
Brenna cleared her throat. “Maybe I should start again. Good morning, Geraldine. This is one of our guests, Mr. Rothschild.” Brenna gestured toward him. “It seems he had an accident this morning, and I have just finished bandaging his hand.”
“Let me see.” Geraldine took his hand and examined the handiwork thoroughly. “Mmm.” She grunted and nodded. “I couldn't have done better myself.” She looked up at Taylor and smiled. “See, it's still bleedin' though. Must have been a nasty cut. How'd ya do it?”
“Well ... I ... It.” Now it was Taylor's turn to stutter. Had he been out of his mind? He wasn't even sure he had a brain anymore. It seemed to have turned into mush ever since he stepped foot into this house. Hadn't he been about to kiss Brenna after he swore he wanted nothing more to do with her? He glanced at how rigid she held herself. She had changed completely from the willing participant she'd been a few minutes ago. The expression in her eyes was now remote and distant. What a little witch she was. She evidently regretted her actions as much as he did.
He felt very much like a lit match and Brenna was gasoline and when the two came in contact the results were one big explosion. He’d been more than ready to throw caution to the wind. So much for self control.
“Well now, seems like ya both havin' a hell of a time talkin' this mornin'.” Geraldine reached out to shake Taylor's hand. “I'm Geraldine, the cook here, and I'm mighty glad to meet ya.”
“Thank you,” Taylor said with a smile in his voice as he took her hand. “And when I'm not tripping over my words, I'm Taylor Rothschild.” Sliding off the stool, he stood up to leave. “I guess I better get out of your way so you both can get some work done.” He looked at Brenna not knowing what to say. “Thanks for taking care of me. I'm going to try to find another place to stay.”
“Why? Ya don't like my cookin'?�
�� Geraldine propped her hands on her hips.
“Oh, no.” Taylor held up his hand. “I just think it's best if I find somewhere else to st--.” Before Taylor could finish, the back door again flew open.
“I'm ho--.” Lisa stopped in mid-sentence as her eyes focused on Taylor. Brenna saw the recognition enter her sister's eyes as she squealed with delight and ran to him.
“I'm so glad you're here!” Lisa threw her arms around his neck. “I knew one day you would come. I just knew it.”
“Let me see you.” Grinning, Taylor held the child away from him. “You sure have grown. You're almost as pretty as your sister.”
Lisa twirled around. “Do you really think so?”
“I've never lied to you before, and look at you--you're walking without a limp. But I thought--” He stared at Brenna.
Brenna felt the color drain from her face. “We found a very good doctor who could fix her problem.” Taylor continued to stare at her a little longer than she cared for. Did he remember that the doctors said her sister had little hope of walking? Could he tell that she was hiding something?
“Well, I'm glad you did.” He knitted his brows as he studied her another minute. Then he continued. “I worried about Lisa for a long time after you ... Well ... never mind.”
Lisa tugged on his arm. “I wanted to write to you, but Brenna said it wasn't a good idea.”
“I bet she did,” Taylor said acidly as he cut his accusing eyes at Brenna. Did she hate him so much that she'd turn her own sister against him? “But your sister has been wrong once or twice in her life.”
Lisa stared up at Taylor with adoration. “I told her you'd come for us.”
“Wait a minute, Lisa,” Brenna interjected. “You've got this all wrong. Taylor didn't come here to see us. He's here with his fiancée.”
The child's grin immediately disappeared. “You didn't come to see us?”
“No, muffin.” Taylor squeezed her arm to reassure her. “I didn't know where to find you.” He wanted to add after your sister skipped town with another man, but he refrained from that comment. After all, Lisa was innocent. “But I'm glad I've bumped into you. Now we can catch up on old times.”
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