Secretly Yours

by Gina Wilkins

  How could she say she didn’t think of his limitations when she had been confronted with them so often? And how could he pretend they didn’t matter when he had to compensate for them every damn day?

  But as he pressed the accelerator and sped toward the sanctuary of his cottage, he wondered miserably what truly made him less a man—a few physical flaws or the tears he had caused in Annie Stewart’s eyes.

  ANNIE WENT through her routines Monday with emotionless efficiency. She tried very hard not to think about Trent or the words they had said to each other, but it was almost impossible to get him out of her mind.

  She started the day by drinking coffee in the rocker Trent had given her. Before she left for work, she walked and fed the dog Trent had named, then put him safely back into the pen Trent had built. He haunted her thoughts while she cleaned her two regular Monday houses and gave his nephew a piano lesson that afternoon. After the lesson, she drove to the McBride Law Firm to clean the offices of Trent’s father and brother. When she finished, she would return to the house Trent had repaired for her, to sleep in the bed in which he had made love to her.

  Working alone in the law offices, she finally conceded how useless it was to try not to think about Trent. He had invaded her life so thoroughly that there were reminders of him everywhere she looked. And it hurt every time.

  Maybe she should leave Honoria, she thought wearily, meticulously dusting Trevor’s office. If there was even the slightest chance that she could put more distance between Trent and his family, it would be better if she went away.

  Her money didn’t change who she was, or the way she felt about Trent. But apparently it made a significant difference in the way he felt about her. Or was her money only another excuse he had found to hold her—like everyone else—at a distance?

  She wondered if Trent felt unworthy of being loved. She didn’t fully understand his feelings of inadequacy just because he had a bad back and slight vision loss. She had met many people in much worse physical condition than Trent. He had his family, his youth, his house, a marketable skill—there were plenty of people who would trade places with him in a minute, limitations and all.

  Yet she couldn’t really blame him for being angry. From what she’d been told, Trent had dreamed of being an air force pilot from the time he was a small boy. He’d been close enough to reach out and touch his dream when he had seen it crumble around him. She could only imagine how devastating that must have been for him.

  She’d never had a dream like that. She’d never wanted anything so badly she couldn’t imagine living without it. And then she had met Trent and tumbled foolishly into love with him. For a very short time, she had allowed herself to dream. If the emptiness inside her now was a measure of how Trent felt about the loss of his career, then she could understand how badly he had suffered during the past eighteen months.

  She ached for him, even as she wanted to punch him for what he’d said to her. Go back to your daddy, rich girl. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong with me. She could hate him for that if she didn’t understand so well where his anger had come from.

  Maybe she should leave. Pack up the few belongings she had accumulated here, put Bozo in the back seat of her car and start over again someplace new. She wouldn’t go home to Daddy, as Trent had advised her so sarcastically—she would never live under her father’s control again—but she could find someplace else to settle. She could clean houses or give music lessons, whatever it took to support herself. But wherever she went, she knew she would miss Honoria more than she’d missed the house where she’d spent the first twenty-six years of her life. And no matter how much time and distance she put between them, she would never forget the first man she had ever truly loved.

  She rubbed a dusty hand across her face, then cursed herself when her fingers came away glittering with moisture. She could handle this without tears, she thought firmly, reaching for her vacuum cleaner. She was tougher than she looked. Trent, himself, had said so.

  THERE WAS NO real reason for Trent to drive into town Monday afternoon. No reason at all for him to turn on the street that led to the McBride Law Firm. He knew that neither his father nor his brother would be there. Only Annie.

  He wouldn’t stop and talk to her, he assured himself. There was nothing left to say, anyway. He would just drive past and make sure everything looked all right.

  The dark green car sitting in the law firm parking lot made him change his mind. There was a man behind the wheel, just sitting there watching the building. The guy probably believed he would find Annie alone and defenseless. He was wrong.

  Slamming his foot down on the accelerator, Trent made a two-wheel turn into the parking lot and squealed to a stop directly in front of the dark car, blocking its path. He had the truck in Park and the door open before the other man had a chance to react.

  The other driver climbed out of his car as Trent approached. He was tall, lean and broad-shouldered. Latino, perhaps, with black hair and polished-onyx eyes. Powerful build—the sleek, wiry strength of a jungle cat—but Trent gave only a passing thought to the possibility that the guy could pound him into the pavement. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. “And why have you been following Annie?”

  The dark man crossed his arms and leaned back against his car, one eyebrow lifted in a curious expression. “I haven’t been following anyone,” he drawled in an accent that was as Southern as Trent’s own. “Actually, I’m looking for someone.”

  “Who?”

  The answer took him by surprise. “Trent McBride.” Studying the man with a skeptical frown, Trent said, “You’ve found him. What do you want?”

  “You’re Trent McBride?” Without waiting for confirmation, the stranger continued. “I’m Mac Cordero. I’m a contractor and I specialize in restoring architecturally significant old buildings. I’ve recently purchased a house in Honoria that I intend to restore and sell. You probably know it as the old Garrett place.”

  Growing more puzzled by the minute, adrenaline still pumping through him, Trent planted his fists on his hips and scowled. “What does any of this have to do with me?”

  “Several people in town have given me your name as someone I should talk to about the cabinet work in the house. I’ve heard you’re good, and that you take pride in your work. That you do things the old-fashioned way—not like the cheap, mass-produced junk you find in most new houses these days. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

  Trent raised a hand to the back of his neck, still not entirely convinced. “Why were you looking for me here? This is where my father and brother work. And they’ve left for the day.”

  “I was just passing by and I saw the lights on and the car in the parking lot. I figured whoever was still here would be able to tell me how to reach you.”

  The guy had an answer for everything—but something about it just didn’t ring true. There was nothing to be read in Cordero’s expression—Trent would have had better luck trying to read a statue. “If I find out you’re not being honest with me—that you have been following Annie around, I’ll—”

  “I don’t even know who Annie is,” Cordero cut in to say.

  “I’m Annie Stewart. Who are you?”

  Until she spoke, Trent hadn’t realized that Annie had stepped out of the law offices. She moved to his side, her attention focused on the other man.

  Cordero introduced himself again, adding an abbreviated version of his reason for wanting to find Trent. “I assure you, Ms. Stewart, I haven’t been following you.”

  She glanced at the dark green car behind him. “This isn’t the same car I saw outside your house, Trent. That one was black.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, reasonably sure. And I would be willing to swear it wasn’t as big as this one.”

  A very faint smile curved Cordero’s hard mouth. “Satisfied?” he asked Trent.

  “Not entirely,” Trent answered coolly. “I’ll want some proof of who you are be
fore I consider taking on a job for you.”

  “I have references. Photos of other houses I’ve restored. A couple of magazine articles featuring my work. And I’ll want to see samples of your work, of course, before I consider offering you the job.”

  “Once you see his work, you’ll offer him the job,” Annie predicted confidently. “Trent does the most beautiful woodwork I’ve ever seen.”

  Even after he’d treated her so badly yesterday, she was still praising him. Trent scowled. “If you’ve been asking about me, you’ve probably heard that I’m just getting started in this business. I did the cabinet work in my parents’ house, in my brother’s house and in my own, and I’ll be remodelling here at the law offices, but that’s the extent of my résumé.”

  “I’m not looking for business longevity. I’m looking for quality. I’d like to see your work, if arrangements can be made. I have to leave for a job site in Alabama early in the morning, but I’ll be back sometime during the first week of June. Perhaps I can call you then?”

  Trent nodded. “It won’t hurt to talk about it, I guess.”

  “How can I reach you?”

  Trent recited his number, which Cordero scribbled in a small notebook he’d pulled from his pocket. Replacing it, he looked at Trent again. “It was…interesting meeting you both. And now if you’ll move your truck, I’ll be on my way.”

  Trent didn’t much care for the dry amusement in Cordero’s voice, but he merely nodded and moved his vehicle out of the way. By the time he’d parked again and got back out, Annie was already stepping into her own car, obviously hoping to leave without further conversation. He moved quickly to stand by her open door. “Wait.”

  “I have to go.”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I think you said enough yesterday. Please, Trent, I want to go home. I’m tired.”

  She looked more than tired. For the first time since he had met her, she looked defeated. And Trent was miserably aware that it was his fault. “About what I said yesterday…”

  “Don’t worry, I got the point. You want me to leave you alone. I assume you don’t want me to show up to clean your place tomorrow, and I won’t expect you at mine. See you around, Trent. Maybe,” she added, and shut the door before he could stop her.

  Maybe this was best, he thought as he watched her drive too quickly away. Maybe ending it now, cleanly and without equivocation, was the best thing to do. It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? No further entanglements with the confused little rich girl who’d stumbled so inexplicably into his life and changed so much. That way it wouldn’t hurt nearly as much when she finally grew tired of working so hard and went back to the wealth she’d known before.

  He wouldn’t follow her. She was perfectly all right without him. Hadn’t he just made a fool of himself again in front of her, practically attacking a man who’d only wanted to talk about a contracting job? She didn’t need his protection, didn’t need his surly companionship, didn’t need him for anything.

  He only wished he wasn’t so sure that he very desperately needed her.

  12

  ANNIE HAD HARDLY walked into her house when Trent showed up at the door. Since she had more than half expected him, she wasn’t overly surprised, but she was nervous about opening the door to him. Why was he here? To apologize—or to break her heart all over again?

  She didn’t know if she could take it again without falling to pieces in front of him, something she’d been trying so very hard not to do. Couldn’t he leave her with at least a shred of pride?

  “What do you want now?” she asked wearily, blocking the entrance to her house.

  “May I come in?”

  It suddenly occurred to her that for once, he was being carefully polite and she was being brusquely rude. Since the role reversal didn’t seem to be accomplishing anything, she sighed and stepped out of the way, figuring she might as well find out what he wanted.

  “Well?” she said when he had closed the door behind him.

  He was standing very straight, but she suspected it was pride rather than pain holding him so stiffly this time. She wrapped her arms around her waist as she faced him, trying to read his expression. Since he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to say anything, she searched for words to fill the painful silence. “You said you wanted me to go away. Did you come to help me pack?”

  “I came to apologize to you. I was out of line yesterday.”

  “Apology accepted.” She motioned toward the door, hoping he would leave before her pent-up tears escaped. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “I’m not leaving yet.”

  She’d been afraid he was going to say that. She nodded resignedly toward the couch. “Then would you like to sit down?”

  “No.” He took a step closer to her and laid his hands on her shoulders. Something in his eyes made her tremble as she gazed up at him, her heart filled with a combination of fear and longing. “Annie, I—damn it.”

  He smothered her mouth beneath his before she had a chance to ask what he meant.

  The kiss was deep, and so intense it was almost painful. Annie found herself hoping it would never end. Trent couldn’t kiss her like this and ever pretend again that he didn’t care, she told herself with sudden hope. This wasn’t the kiss of a man who really wanted her to go away. Could it be the kiss of a man who was afraid to hope she would stay?

  When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were filled with more emotion that she had ever seen in them. She couldn’t quite read them, but she thought they were the same tumultuous feelings crashing around inside her. “Annie, I—”

  Whatever he had intended to say—and she wanted very badly to hear it—was interrupted by a heavy knocking on the door. Trent’s head went around sharply, reminding her for all the world of a guard dog hearing a suspicious noise. Nothing at all like poor Bozo, of course, who was more likely to hide and quiver in response to the first scary sound.

  “Maybe I’d better get that,” Trent said, dropping his hands. “You stay here until I find out who it is.”

  “It’s my door. I’ll answer it,” she answered firmly, determined to convince him that she could take care of herself. His protectiveness was—well, it was sweet—but before they went any further, she had to break him of this bad habit of telling her what to do. “Why don’t you make a pot of coffee, and check on Bozo. We’ll talk after I find out who’s at the door.”

  He hesitated a moment, then reluctantly moved toward the kitchen. Tougher than she looked, Annie reminded herself in satisfaction. But when she opened the door and saw the three people standing on the other side, she could only hope she was as tough as she needed to be.

  Immaculately attired in a hand-tailored suit, Nathaniel Stewart studied Annie with a grimace of distaste. “I must say you look the part of a housekeeper. Where did you find those clothes—at a thrift store?”

  “You’ve lost so much weight, Annie,” Mona Stewart fretted, wringing her hands in a characteristically nervous gesture. “I knew I was right to be worried about you living alone this way. Have you not been able to afford food?”

  “How can you stand living in this dump out in the middle of nowhere?” Preston Dixon asked, looking around with an elegant sneer. “Why would you choose to stay here for four long months when you could have been living in your own beautiful home?”

  “This is my home,” Annie told him flatly. “The house you’re talking about belongs to my parents.”

  They didn’t wait to be invited inside, but filed past her, looking around as if in fear that something might crawl on them. Annie resented that; her house might not ever be featured in a home-and-gardens magazine, but it was spotlessly clean.

  She placed her hands on her hips and frowned at her uninvited guests. “It might have been nice if you had called before you came, Mother, Dad. As for you, Preston, I can’t imagine why you’re here. You and I have nothing to say to each other.”

  He gave her the sort of sm
ile a kindly, patient uncle might have given a favorite, but misbehaving niece. He’d looked at her that way frequently when they’d been engaged. She’d hated it then, too. “Now, Annie, it’s apparent that your little experiment in independence hasn’t worked out exactly as you planned. You’re obviously exhausted, you look positively haggard, and this house is little more than a shack. We’re all impressed that you’ve made it four months on your own, but it’s time for you to come home now.”

  “Yes, Annie, you’ve proven your point,” Nathaniel added, speaking with a forced gentleness probably intended to prove that he’d forgiven the harsh words she’d spoken to him the day she’d left his house. “You’ve shown us you can support yourself, if necessary. We got the message. Now pack a bag and let us take you home—if you have anything here worth taking with you.”

  “We love you, Annie,” Mona said, the perfunctory warmth in her voice barely reflected in her perpetually vague eyes. “Preston adores you. Let him take care of you.”

  “I don’t need Preston—or anyone—to take care of me, Mother. And what Preston adores is our money, not me. I don’t know why you and Dad can’t, or won’t, see that.”

  “That’s both an insulting and an absurd accusation, Annette,” Nathaniel chided sternly, his uncharacteristic tolerance slipping. “Preston can have any woman in our social circle that he wants—”

  “Can and has,” Annie murmured, thinking of the affairs she had learned about through a jealous ex-friend Preston had romanced and dumped.

  Nathaniel ignored her. “You’re the one Preston asked to be his wife because the two of you are so obviously well suited.”

  “Because he thought I was such a doormat that I wouldn’t interfere with anything he did,” Annie countered. And she had been a doormat, damn it, she remembered with a wince. Until the day she’d finally realized she’d had more than enough of other people’s footprints on her back.