Secretly Yours

by Gina Wilkins

  “Suckers,” he muttered.

  “Behave yourself, Trent. Those people admire your work. It’s a compliment. And, by the way, thank you for building the dog pen. It looks great, and Bozo seems very comfortable in it.”

  “I take it you’ve decided to keep the name Bozo?”

  “It seems to fit,” she said ruefully, thinking of the dog’s amusingly goofy behavior. “I bought a leash and took him for a long walk—well, actually he took me for a walk. He’s stronger than he looks.”

  “How did he do on the leash?”

  “He didn’t seem to mind it—to be honest, he hardly seemed to notice it. I think some training is in order.” It occurred to her that Bozo and Trent had a few things in common.

  “Good luck.”

  She needed it—with both of them. “Thanks.”

  “You didn’t see that car today, did you?”

  “Not that I noticed. Don’t worry about it, Trent, I’m sure it was just a weird coincidence. Those things happen.”

  “Are your doors all locked now?”

  “Every door and window,” she assured him. “I checked.”

  “You aren’t nervous about being there alone?”

  “No,” she answered honestly, still a bit embarrassed that she’d caused such a fuss last night—even though she couldn’t regret how the night had ended. “If I hear any noises in the backyard tonight, I’ll know it’s Bozo.”

  “If you hear anything you can’t explain, you get on the phone, you hear? Call the cops and call me. Don’t worry about being embarrassed.”

  Unsurprised by this latest demonstration of his mind-reading ability, she merely said, “If I think there’s any reason to call for help, I will. I’m not stupid, Trent.”

  “I know.” He sounded suddenly wry. “You’re probably one of the most independent and self-sufficient people I’ve ever met.”

  The words pleased her even as they puzzled her. He hadn’t made them sound like a compliment, exactly. “Um—thank you. I guess.”

  “I’d better let you get some sleep. Call if you need me.”

  “I will. Good night, Tr—” A dial tone cut off her words.

  Making a sound of frustration, Annie slammed the phone down and fisted both hands in her hair. The man was driving her insane. When she wasn’t thinking about making love with him, she was fantasizing about strangling him. She simply didn’t understand his erratic mood swings, or his unpredictable behavior.

  He had rushed to protect her last night when he’d thought she needed him. He’d made love to her so beautifully, so perfectly last night. He’d obviously spent hours building a safe place for the stray dog she had taken in. And then he’d practically hung up on her after calling to make sure she felt safe tonight. He was just strange, she told herself.

  But she’d gone and fallen in love with him, anyway.

  She sank back into the rocking chair as the word echoed in her mind. Love. Oh no, surely not.

  But she knew herself well enough to recognize the truth when it slapped her in the face. After running away from a father who wanted to control her and a fiancé who wanted to use her, she had fallen in love with a man who completely confused her.

  Just what kind of masochist was she?

  BY TUESDAY EVENING, Annie was about ready to track Trent down and hit him with one of his two-by-fours—just to get his attention. He couldn’t have held her more effectively at a distance if he’d built a wall around himself. Oh, he was polite enough—for Trent. He’d called both of the last two evenings to make sure she was safely locked in her house before bedtime, though he hadn’t lingered long on the phone. He’d left a pleasantly worded note to greet her when she’d arrived at his house to clean this morning, explaining that he wanted to get an early start at her place. He’d accomplished an incredible amount of work today, but he’d left before she’d gotten home. He’d even built a doghouse for Bozo.

  But she hadn’t seen him, not even in passing, since they had fallen asleep in her bed very early Saturday morning. He hadn’t even mentioned what had passed between them.

  It was obvious to her that he had retreated in panic. But just how much space should she give him before she went after him? Because she had no intention of letting him get away completely—at least not this easily. The new Annie Stewart was willing to fight for what she wanted. And she wanted Trent McBride. He wanted her, too—if the mule-headed man would only admit it.

  When her phone rang just after she walked into the house, she answered it eagerly. “Hello?”

  She had hoped it would be Trent. She had never expected it to be his mother.

  “Annie, it’s Bobbie McBride.”

  It said a lot about Annie’s emotional state that her first thought was that something was wrong with Bobbie’s son. “Mrs. McBride—is there something I can do for you?”

  “I hope so. The pianist at my church fell and broke her leg this morning. She’s going to need surgery in the morning.”

  Relieved that the call wasn’t about Trent, Annie murmured, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s a very bad time for this to happen, of course, with Easter only a few days away.”

  Annie couldn’t help smiling at the somewhat aggrieved tone in Bobbie’s voice—as if the pianist had deliberately chosen the timing of her accident, just to put everybody out.

  Even Bobbie must have realized how her words had sounded. “I didn’t mean it like that, of course,” she said immediately. “I’m very sorry about her poor leg. It’s just that it puts us in such a bind. No one here feels capable of stepping in at the last minute to play the special piece of music we’d selected, but Jamie’s sure you can do it.”

  Easter was four days away. Annie gulped, hoping Jamie’s faith in her hadn’t been misplaced. “When do you need me?”

  “Choir practice starts in an hour,” Bobbie answered apologetically.

  “An hour—from now?”

  “Yes. I hope you have no other plans this evening.” She had planned to sit in her chair with her feet up and stare at the phone, willing Trent to call. Since there was no way she was going to divulge that rather pathetic agenda to his mother, she said briskly, “No, I’m free. I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you so much, dear. Everyone will be so appreciative.”

  Annie hung up the phone, drew a deep breath and dashed into the bedroom to freshen up and change her clothes. She would deal with Trent later, she promised herself. Somehow.

  THE CALL TRENT had been waiting for came late Wednesday afternoon. “Hey, Trent. It’s Blake,” his private-detective brother-in-law drawled on the other end of the line.

  “What have you found?”

  Blake chuckled lazily. “It’s always a pleasure to talk to you, too, Trent. No wasted time on meaningless small talk or family chitchat. You just get straight to the point.”

  “Too bad more people don’t,” Trent said gruffly. He wasn’t interested in idle chatter when Annie’s safety could be at stake. As independent as she was determined to be, he knew she had been unnerved by that dark car, and utterly terrified when she’d thought someone was trying to break into her house.

  The protectiveness he’d always felt toward her had doubled since that night. It felt good to be needed by her—even if it shook him so badly he’d been finding excuses to avoid her while he came to terms with the feelings that had been swirling in him since the night he’d spent in her bed.

  Surrendering to Trent’s impatience, Blake cooperated. “If Annie’s father has hired anyone to keep her under surveillance, he’s used someone who doesn’t normally operate in this area. If he’d hired a local, I would have found it out.”

  “Damn. I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried to hear that.”

  “I see your point. If her father had hired someone to follow her around, it would be irritating to her, but not dangerous.”

  “So what if it’s some pervert stalker, instead? That sort of thing happens even in places like Honoria.”r />
  “Rarely,” Blake cautioned. “It was more likely the coincidence Annie believes it to be, Trent. There are a lot of nondescript dark cars on the road—even in Honoria—and just because she spotted a couple, or even the same one, twice, doesn’t necessarily mean she’s being followed.”

  “I know. It’s just—well, I have a bad feeling about it.”

  “I’m the last person to discount hunches. They’re pretty much my standard operating procedure. But sometimes they’re wrong, Trent.”

  “Yeah.” But he still wanted Annie to be careful.

  “There’s still the chance that Stewart has one of his own men or someone I’ve never dealt with watching your Annie. He certainly has the resources to bring in round-the-clock surveillance from anywhere he chooses, if that’s what he wanted to do.”

  Startled by Blake’s wording, Trent asked, “Just who the hell is her father, anyway?”

  “Nathaniel Stewart.”

  Trent’s jaw felt as if it had suddenly locked. He had to force the words out. “Nathaniel Stewart—as in Stewart Pharmaceuticals? The man who made an unsuccessful run for governor a few years ago?”

  “Yeah. Old Carney was his uncle—the black sheep of the clan. Didn’t want to fall in line with family expectations, so he took off. Apparently, his great-niece takes after him. I wonder how Nathaniel feels about his daughter cleaning other people’s houses for a living?”

  “I have a feeling he hates it,” Trent murmured, remembering something Annie had said. Nathaniel Stewart’s daughter. He sank into his chair, his shoulders drooping. “Damn.”

  “I take it she hasn’t mentioned her father’s name to you.”

  “No. She neglected to fill me in on that detail.” He felt like a fool. Here he’d been telling himself that Annie was all alone, that she needed his protection. That she needed him. The truth was, she could probably buy anything she needed, including a whole passel of bodyguards, if she desired.

  “She’s not going to like it that you’ve been digging,” Blake warned, revealing an intimate knowledge of women.

  Trent scowled. “Then she shouldn’t have told me she was afraid someone was following her. There was no way I could just let that go.”

  “Look, Trent, it probably is nothing, but you should still warn your friend to be careful, you know? Her father’s one of the richest men in Georgia. She’s rich in her own right from an inheritance she received from her grandparents. She’s living there alone and unprotected while she plays out her little rebellion, whatever her reasons. I don’t have to tell you that there are people who would take advantage of that.”

  “No.” Trent squeezed the taut muscles at the back of his neck, trying to decide how he felt about hearing the truth about Annie’s background. He came up with the answer only a few minutes after hanging up the phone.

  The news had infuriated him almost as much as it had depressed him.

  ANNIE’S STEPS were definitely dragging when she got home at almost 10:00 p.m. Thursday. It had been a long day, starting with a very dirty house and ending with a lengthy practice session with Bobbie’s enthusiastic, but decidedly amateur, church choir. She almost screamed when someone stepped out of the shadows of her porch just as she reached the front door. “Damn it, Trent, are you trying to give me a heart attack? You have to stop sneaking up on me this way.”

  “You never even looked to see if anyone was here. I could have been anyone.”

  She unlocked her door. “Did you come to visit me or to lecture me?”

  “I came because you didn’t answer your phone when I tried to call. I wanted to make sure you were all right. Surely you haven’t been working this late.”

  She turned on the lights as she entered the house, Trent right at her heels. She ran a hand through her hair, then turned to face him. “I was practicing with your mother’s church choir. I’m filling in for the pianist who broke her leg.”

  “I suppose my mother talked you into that?”

  “She asked if I could help out.”

  “And you couldn’t say no, right? Your days weren’t quite busy enough, so you decided to take on another job.”

  She was beginning to figure out that Trent was angry, and she had a feeling it had nothing to do with her getting home so late. Studying the man who had made love with her so beautifully only a few days before and who now looked like a fierce stranger, she said, “I don’t mind helping the choir out. They’ve been working very hard on a special piece for Easter, and it would have been a shame if they couldn’t perform because of their accompanist’s accident.”

  “And won’t it be a shame if their substitute accompanist collapses from exhaustion during the performance? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t slow down and get some rest.”

  She almost sighed. “Are we back to that? I thought I’d convinced you that I’m fine. I’m not overdoing it.”

  He took a step toward her and brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. The tenderness of his touch almost made her shiver. “You might have a better chance of convincing me if you didn’t have those hollows under your eyes,” he said in a low voice. “Or if you hadn’t lost so much weight in just the couple of months I’ve known you.”

  She winced at that direct shot. Truth was, she had lost weight since she’d moved here, a result of so many skipped meals and so much physical activity. She knew she was a bit too thin, but she’d planned to start eating better as soon as things slowed down some—whenever that might be. As for her sleepless nights—those were due more to Trent than to overwork, something she decided not to mention just now.

  “I’ll slow down after this Easter program. I’ve already turned down a couple of cleaning jobs. I put them on a waiting list because I simply didn’t have any openings now.”

  Instead of appeasing him, her words seem to irritate him further. He dropped his hand and stepped away, the fleeting glimpse of her one-night lover gone now. “Why the hell are you scrubbing toilets and mopping floors, anyway?”

  Stung by the implied criticism, she lifted her chin proudly. “Because I have to earn a living.”

  His reply to that was a muttered curse.

  “Just what is your problem today, Trent?” she asked, losing patience with him.

  “My problem? Nathaniel Stewart’s daughter is unnecessarily working herself to the bone and she asks if I have a problem?”

  Annie went rigid. “How do you know who my father is?”

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t try to find out if someone has been following you? You’re the one who told me there was a possibility your father could be involved. All I did was try to find out if that was true.”

  “But how did you—?”

  “I called my brother-in-law. Blake Fox. He’s a P.I. in Atlanta.”

  “I wish you hadn’t done that. No one here knows who my father is, and I prefer to keep it that way—for obvious reasons.”

  “I don’t intend to take out an ad in the local paper. I won’t tell anyone else and neither will Blake, but I would have thought you could have told me.”

  She thought there was a note of hurt behind the anger in his voice. “I’m sorry—but I knew how you would react. I knew you wouldn’t understand why I’ve been working so hard to be supporting myself. I was right, wasn’t I?”

  “You’re right. I don’t understand why you would endanger your health and let yourself get in this shape just to prove a point to your father. Did you decide to clean other people’s houses because that would really get to him? Are you trying to work yourself into the hospital to make him feel guilty?”

  She shook her head wearily. “You don’t understand,” she repeated.

  “Yeah, well, it’s a little hard to understand when you never told me anything. And it’s a little hard to watch out for you when you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

  Because she knew she’d hurt him, even unintentionally, she tried to speak gently. “Trent, I appreciate your concern, but it really isn�
�t necessary. I don’t need you to watch out for me. I left my father’s house—years later than I should have—to prove that I could make it on my own. I don’t need you to take his place as my caretaker.”

  His face tightened. “Hell, Annie, I can hardly take care of myself,” he drawled gruffly.

  She almost groaned. “Trent—”

  “I’d better go,” he said, moving toward the door. “You know how to reach me if you need anything. And, by the way, there’s no need for you to clean my place in the morning. I’m taking the day off. It wouldn’t hurt you to do the same.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she felt compelled to say. “It just all seemed so awkward. I know it looks odd, but if you—”

  “What it looks like,” Trent cut in, one hand on the door, “is that the rich girl went slumming to spite her daddy. Getting involved with an unemployed carpenter might have added a nice touch.”

  “Surely you don’t believe that,” she whispered, appalled.

  He shrugged. “I didn’t say I believed it. I just said it could be interpreted that way. People tend to come up with all kinds of far-fetched scenarios when the truth is kept from them. I should know. I’m a McBride, remember? Lock your doors, Annie—just in case some of those crazy scenarios have merit.”

  He didn’t sound angry anymore, she decided. He didn’t even sound particularly hurt. He just sounded…tired. Resigned. And she let him go because she could think of nothing to say to explain why she’d made love with him but hadn’t been honest with him.

  She crossed the room to sink into the rocking chair. Her head was pounding; she lifted her hands to her temples and pressed, though it didn’t help. She had always suspected that Trent wouldn’t react well to finding out that she was wealthy, especially as often as he had chided her for working so hard.

  She had actually begun to feel guilty that he had labored so many free hours on her house when she was fully capable of paying for his work if she dipped into the trust fund she’d been so determined to live without for a while. She’d tried to repay him with equal hours at his house, but she was aware that she’d been falling behind. She had been trying to figure out a way to reimburse him financially without bruising his brittle pride. Yet she had slighted him, anyway, by letting him find out the truth from someone else. She had never actually lied to him, but she had been guilty of deliberate omission.