“Ah, hell,” Malcolm muttered. He cast a glance toward Nick, touched upon Jeremiah as he roused himself from the ground and asked, “Can you take care of this mess? I’ve got a mess of my own to clean up.”
Nick nodded and Malcolm took off after Lacy, a mix of anger and want swirling in his heart. Lacy was only trying to help. It’s what she did. A large part of Malcolm believed that to be true, but another part of him couldn’t get past the lie. It was betrayal.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lacy ran and ran and ran, the tall meadow grass scraping at her legs as she pushed forward. She had to get out of here. She had to get away from Malcolm and Nick and Annie—all of them! She should never have come back to Tennessee. She should have stayed in Atlanta and made good with what she had. She had a boyfriend. She had a job. But she wasn’t happy. She wanted to be with her family. She wanted to be loved. Tears spurted from her eyes and she ran faster. Harder.
She wanted to be in love! She’d almost found herself a perfect man and then she ruined it. Ruined it. Smeared it into the mud. Lacy saw the look in Malcolm’s eyes. She heard his words. I can trust you, right? You don’t want me to get into trouble, do you?
He hated her. Malcolm hated her because she’d lied to him about the gold.
She should have settled for her manager. He had a steady job, made good money. He would have made a fine husband, taken care of her. But Lacy didn’t love him. He was old and boring. He wasn’t interested in fun, or kids, and he was about as spontaneous as a sponge. He was no good for her. Slowing to a jolty walk, she struggled against the pounding in her chest. She dropped hands to knees, her leg muscles pumped from the extended sprint. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Malcolm wasn’t coming for her. The knife to her heart was quick and deep. Another wave of tears pricked. There was no need to hurry. No one wanted her.
Lacy stood, inhaling against the rapid-fire of her pulse, ignoring the yellow and purple blooms dotting the grass with clusters of cheery color, the bright sunshine of a clear blue day, the hills plumped with green, mountains that reached to the sky. The beauty made her sad. She was alone, with no one to enjoy the scenery, the gorgeous weather. Up ahead, the forest would offer her shade, solitude. She could lose herself in the woods, erase her memory with the crash of water, the thunder of sound. The chilly water would refresh her, cleanse her soul, give her new direction. Time alone would clear her mind and help her think.
Breathing easier as the adrenaline wore off, Lacy plodded toward the trail. She’d spend the day at Zack’s Falls and figure out what to do next. She halted, heaved a weighty sigh. Who was she kidding? There was no next step.
“Lacy!”
Limbs froze. Her pulse took off at a gallop.
“Hold up!” Malcolm yelled from a distance.
If she had an ounce of strength left, she would have bolted like a deer. But between her fatigue and the fresh shot of shock, Lacy couldn’t move an inch. She wiped the tears from her cheeks. She looped her hair behind an ear, took a deep breath, threw her shoulders back and turned. She’d have to face him sooner or later. Stand up and face her sins like a woman. Wasn’t the first time.
Every step closer he took twisted knots of anxiety through her heart. Malcolm was jogging, slowing his pace as he neared. “Lacy.” Winded, his voice held a certain urgency.
“Malcolm,” she said, forcing herself to sound strong, impenetrable. She’d faced her mistakes before and she could face them again—although trying to do right by her sister didn’t feel like a mistake. It felt good.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she replied, but her bravado cracked at the compassion in his eyes. Malcolm looked genuinely concerned.
“I’m sorry. Back there”—he hiked a thumb over his shoulder—“I lost it.”
Lacy wished he was sorry for hating her instead of for hitting Jeremiah. “I understand. You were angry.”
“I was. Very.” He dropped his head forward.
Lacy wanted to burst into tears. It was true. He hated her.
Malcolm blew out a heavy breath, raised his head and looked directly into her eyes. Hurt swam in his eyes. Lacy’s heart squeezed at his tortured gaze. He looked beaten. And she had swung the hammer.
“Why did you say anything about the gold, Lacy? You promised you wouldn’t.”
You lied is what she heard. Loud and clear. Stung by the accusation, Lacy objected in a shaky voice, “But I didn’t lie, Malcolm.” His gaze turned dark and she added hurriedly, “Not really—I had my fingers crossed when I agreed.” Confusion funneled into his gentle features and Lacy stepped back. “If you cross your fingers, Malcolm, it’s not a lie,” she insisted, and though she sounded foolish—even to herself—it was true. Sort of. In her heart, anyway.
The blue of Malcolm’s eyes hardened to an impenetrable crystal. A wall rose behind them as he closed himself off from her. Beset with guilt, she stomped her boot and confessed, “Okay, I lied—is that what you want to hear? I lied, dang it! I wanted to help Annie and Casey. I wanted them to know there was gold, that they had to fight for it, that they couldn’t let that mean old Delaney keep it for herself!” Lacy knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t stop. Malcolm had to know. He had to know why she did what she did, and if he still hated her, then so be it. But she was going to tell him everything. “Casey is Jeremiah’s daughter. She’s entitled to her share of this property, same as Felicity. And just because someone doesn’t like her daddy, or her momma,” Lacy continued, fueled by anger, “that doesn’t make it right to cut her out—”
Malcolm grabbed her face and kissed her.
Lacy squealed. The sudden move rocked her. She tried to think, tried to move, tried to—
Malcolm’s mouth sank into hers and Lacy couldn’t do a thing. He pried her lips apart and kissed her with a near violent greed. Her insides shivered as he probed, plunged. The kiss lengthened, grew needy, stirring swells of emotion within her. Powerful hunger wound deep and low in her belly, curled up and around her heart like a soft caress. Malcolm felt so good, so warm. He was solid. Strong. When he eased away, her heart lurched, yet his hands remained steady in their hold. Reaching up, she cupped her hands over his and searched his pale gaze for meaning, direction. “Malcolm?”
“No more crossed fingers. Ever.”
Lacy’s heart sung. Malcolm didn’t hate her! He still cared. She still mattered. Relief washed through her. Slipping into a sheepish grin she replied, “No more. Ever.”
Malcolm wrapped his arms around her and pulled her near. He kissed her, hugged her—so hard, that Lacy feared the breath would burst from her lungs. Gasping, she pushed away. “Malcolm, I can’t breathe!”
Lessening his grip, he grew serious. The fine black line of his lashes underscored the mellowing of his gaze. “I love you, Lacy. I knew it the second I saw you in the backseat of that car. If anything happened to you, I would have been devastated.”
Lacy hated to laugh when he was pouring his heart out to her, but she couldn’t help it.
He nodded, a mischievous gleam flaring in his gaze. “You think that’s funny?”
“You love me. I thought you hated me.”
“I did.” Lacy stuck out her lower lip, hurt by his admission. “Until I realized why you did what you did.”
She relaxed in his arms, adoring the way it felt to be held by him. “You understand? Honest, you do?” Lacy wanted to be on the same side as Malcolm. She wanted them to be a team. But Annie was her sister, and she didn’t care what anyone said. It was true what people claimed, that blood was thicker than water. It connected you, bound you. It held you together as best it could. Of course family members had to do their share and not spill so much of it between them, but they were human. They made mistakes. Lacy reckoned both she and Annie had made their share and all they could do was move forward.
“I only wanted to help Annie,” Lacy said, “but I want to help you too, Malcolm. I helped you with Jeremiah, remember?”
He smiled. “I do
.”
“But Annie’s my sister. You understand I have to be with her first, right? Over you, she comes first.”
He nodded. “She’s the one who made me realize that fact.”
Lacy balked. “Annie?”
“Annie. She said you were only trying to help her. That helping is what you do.”
A cuddly joy enveloped Lacy’s heart, snug as a child’s fuzzy blanket. “She did? She said all that?”
“She did.”
Lacy beamed. She felt bright as the afternoon sun. Glancing overhead at the blue sky, the temperature warming her skin, she suddenly ached for adventure. “Wanna go to Zack’s Falls with me?”
Malcolm laughed. He hugged her tight. “More than you know!”
As Malcolm and Lacy lay side-by-side on an expanse of rock, a branch overhead shaded their bodies from the brunt of the heat. The thunderous crash of water invigorated him, misted the air with its cool spray. They hadn’t skinny-dipped. They’d swum, but did so fully clothed. The wooded trail to their side was too unpredictable. First it had been Jeremiah and his cohort, who knew who might run past next time? Exposing Lacy’s naked body to strangers wasn’t a chance he was willing to take. He wanted that view all for himself. Restless, Malcolm rolled over Lacy’s body, ignoring the dusty stone particles sticking to his back. He stared into her eyes, eyes that held a smile, a hint of mischief, and of course her tease that never quit.
“Have you warmed up, yet?” he asked.
“If I have, does that mean you won’t stay near to keep me warm?”
“I’ll stay near as long as you want me to,” he replied, leaning down for a kiss. Lacy responded, as did his loins. He melted into her, desire surging. Lacy kissed him with a fluidity of motion that made him feel like they were the only two people on the planet. He cradled her head with his hand and delved his tongue inside her mouth. Moist and succulent, she was like candy, like juicy steak, like a drug, an aphrodisiac of the highest degree. Desire slid through him, detonating nerve endings in a surge of want. Malcolm lost himself in the sensation, in images of her body from their swim, the sky blue tank sticking to her soaking wet skin. Gliding a hand down her waist, her thigh, he thought she was beautiful, sexy, perfection in the female form. Hardening, Malcolm pulled away from her. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he said huskily.
“It’s all good, right?”
Malcolm smiled at her impish response. “It’s all good. Everything you do is good.”
She giggled.
The girlish reaction made him wonder yet again how she managed to stay so naïve, so fresh in her outlook. It was an odd outcome for a woman with her past. Brushing the short tendrils of black hair from her forehead, her cheeks, he marveled in her creamy skin, pink from the sun and their swim in the brisk pool of water beneath the falls. “Tell me about Lacy.”
“About me?” she asked, as if startled by the question.
“I want to know everything about you.”
She dipped her chin and peered up at him. “I’m not that exciting.”
Malcolm laughed, trailing a finger down the length of her arm. “Oh, I completely disagree. You are most interesting, Ms. Owens.” She smiled, but something in her changed. Her gaze lost its carefree tease, her smile lost a bit of its luster. “I want to know how you spent your days, your nights in Atlanta. When you weren’t working, that is. What did you do for fun?”
She heaved a sigh. “That was the problem. I didn’t have much fun. I worked,” she said, and slid her gaze down to his chest. “A lot.”
“All work and no fun?” He tipped her chin back up, noting the blue of her eyes had deepened. “I don’t believe it. Fun is your middle name.”
Lacy rewarded him with a smile. “Not everyone is as fun as you, Malcolm. In fact, some people are downright stick-in-the-muds.”
He chuckled. Dropping his elbow, he relaxed onto his arm, placing his opposite hand over her narrow hips. Her denim skirt was still damp, though her tank had almost completely dried. No pink bra today, it was beige and not nearly as charming. “Speaking from experience, are you?” Lacy nodded, but didn’t elaborate. “Well, let’s not dwell on the stick-in-the-muds. Tell me about the young and rebellious Lacy, the one who moved to Atlanta with Jeremiah in a mad dash out of town.” Lacy frowned. “What? Do you regret it?” She stilled, and a fleeting shame swooped into her expression. Caught off guard by the change, Malcolm tensed. Brief, but it had been there, he was sure of it. Was she hiding something undesirable? “Lacy?”
“Do we have to talk about the past? I’d rather talk about the future, about Serenity Springs and all the new jobs you’re going to offer me.”
Malcolm tried to smile, but remained tripped up by her reaction. What had she done that she wasn’t willing to share? Couldn’t share? She had no record. There was nothing in her past with regard to arrests, no legal trouble of any kind that he could find. Not that he liked snooping on women, but Malcolm had been burned once, badly. Ten years ago, he’d fallen for the wrong woman and she had nearly taken him for everything he was worth. And it wasn’t the woman’s first time. California divorce records revealed she had three previous marriages and then there was the lawsuit for fraud—all readily accessible had he the presence of mind to search for them beforehand. But he didn’t. Malcolm relied on her word and learned a hard lesson.
It was a lesson in testosterone, stupidity and youthful inexperience. A lesson he would not repeat. Yet oddly, Malcolm felt as though it were happening all over again. He delicately turned her jaw until he could look her in the eye. “Lacy?” She blinked. “It’s not like you to clam up.” A sadness swamped her gaze. “Talk to me. What happened in Atlanta?”
“Oh, Malcolm. Do we have to talk about Atlanta?”
“Is there a reason we can’t?” She looked away and he swore she was about to cry. “I’ve fallen head over heels for a woman and she can’t talk about her past?” Part of Malcolm felt the brunt of the statement like a kick to the gut. Another part of him was swimming in dread. The steady pound of the waterfall reverberated in his chest as he held his breath.
“Will you still love me if I’m not perfect?”
Spurts of relief erupted inside him. “No one’s perfect, Lacy. We all make mistakes.”
She pursed her lips, as though pondering whether or not she should divulge her particular mistakes, her secrets. “I wouldn’t call them mistakes, exactly.”
He cocked a brow. “What would you call them?”
“Pictures.”
“Pictures?”
Lacy nodded and gnawed on her lower lip.
“What kind of pictures?” Tears filled her eyes, instantly tearing at his heart. “Are they bad?” Suddenly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question.
“Not terribly,” she replied, her voice shaky. “I was young, they paid well. They weren’t vulgar or anything and they helped me save—”
Malcolm pressed a finger to her lips. He didn’t want to hear anymore. Pictures.
For a moment, they only stared at one another. Water rushed and crashed as the past flowed over them, between them, down the river. The power of nature, the quiet of solitude. One man, one woman, choices swept away, cleansing the air between them. Malcolm had always known there was something. Without roommates to split the cost of living, minimum wage would barely scrape the rent for a modest one-bedroom apartment in Atlanta. He tried to imagine what had been going through her mind as she posed, why she hadn’t decided to return home, instead. But second-guessing the past was a fool’s game. He’d made his share of mistakes, decisions he’d wished he could take back, emotions he’d wished he never experienced. But that was life. You lived, you learned, you did the best you could. You tried to keep your eye on the ball, keep the ball up in the air, but sometimes it dropped.
Lacy was clearly upset by her choices. It was a part of her life she’d rather forget. But she had survived. She’d survived the city and done so with minimal scars. An amazing feat really, w
hen he thought of everything that could have happened and didn’t. Posing for pictures wasn’t illegal. It might prove haunting, but not illegal. Malcolm couldn’t help but wonder if the pictures had been widely distributed. Would he run across them one day? In a magazine, on the internet?
As he traced Lacy’s cheekbone, her jawline, she remain transfixed. Malcolm wondered if she ever thought the same thing. Would those pictures show up when she least expected them? Would they upset her? They wouldn’t upset him. Lacy Owens was a beautiful woman. He bet her pictures were gorgeous.
Lacy drew his hand from her face and whispered, “Do you hate me?”
“No.” He shook his head, pained by the naked fear in her eyes. It was unnecessary. “I couldn’t hate you, Lacy.”
“Not even for what I did?”
“You did what you had to do.” Tears pricked his eyes. He hated to think she had been put in that position, but once there, she’d done what she had to do to survive. “I admire you for that.” He paused. “Unless, there’s something else you’re hiding from me.” Shock peppered her expression. “You don’t have a husband you’re hiding somewhere, do you?”
Realization slammed into her eyes and she punched him. “I most certainly do not.”
“Then I don’t hate you.” He grinned and pecked her nose. “I love you.”
Relief unlocked her joy with a genuine smile. She wrapped her arms around his body and cried, “Oh, Malcolm, I love you!”
He laughed. “It’s about time!” He’d said the words, but this was the first time Lacy had said them back. As he gazed into her eyes, Malcolm’s heart swelled. Words he believed she meant. “C’mon.” He pushed up from the rock. “I’m taking you home.”
Ladd Fortune Page 21
