by Kay Hooper
“I don’t look much like my mother,” Amanda said, determined to say it before he did.
The woman in the portrait, dark-haired like Amanda, was obviously much taller—though she was very slender and delicate, almost fragile. Her flawless skin was tanned gold, which made her black-lashed, pale blue eyes appear even lighter and more striking, and her faintly smiling mouth was unusually lush, explicitly erotic.
Christine Daulton was … more than Amanda knew herself to be. Of the three in the painting, as lifelike as all of them were, she stood out, captured more completely than her husband or child. If the artist had not been completely captivated by her, he had certainly been fascinated.
He had painted her soul.
Spirited, vibrant, the intensity almost radiating from her, she seemed about to move or laugh aloud or beckon with a slender finger. She was a coquette; in the arch of her eyebrows there was provocative humor, and in the curve of her lips there was playful seduction.
She didn’t look like a mother. Like anybody’s mother.
Like Glory, the woman in the painting was magnificent and curiously overwhelming to the senses, and though she was not at all voluptuous, there was about her a physical carnality that was conspicuous, a blatant sexuality neither she nor the artist made any effort to hide.
A woman who would never be forgotten, particularly by any man who had ever known her.
“She was very beautiful then,” Walker said dispassionately. “I’m told Brian took one look at her and proposed—and he was barely twenty, still in college.”
“That couldn’t have made Jesse very happy,” Amanda ventured, deciding not to comment on whether his statement had been intended as a tacit agreement with her own. “I mean, his only son eloping with a waitress two years older and hardly … from the same background.”
Walker shrugged. “I suppose you read that in one of the newspaper or magazine articles about the family; there were plenty of them, easily available. So you must know that however mad Jesse was, all was forgiven when Brian brought Christine home. I don’t remember myself, but they say she charmed men completely and with no apparent effort. And nobody ever claimed Jesse was immune to feminine charm. As for her background, she seemed to fit in here well enough.”
His tone was the lazy, dispassionate one that had become familiar to her, but Amanda found it abruptly irritating. Thinking, the man was always thinking. That cool, rational mind of his probed her every word and distrusted most of them even while he held himself aloof, observing her with detached interest, and it was really beginning to bother her.
Amanda looked at Walker just in time to intercept a glance, and realized he had looked at her diamond heart necklace—which matched the one Christine Daulton wore in the portrait.
“Yes, it’s the same one,” she said, lifting one hand to briefly touch the little heart. “Of course, I can’t prove it. After all, I could have seen this painting reproduced in some of those magazine and newspaper articles I read, and then had a matching necklace made easily enough.”
“Yes,” he agreed, undisturbed by her mockery, “you could have.”
She made herself look away from his shuttered eyes and back at the painting, this time fixing her gaze on Brian Daulton. She concentrated on him. He’d been twenty-seven when the painting was done, but looked considerably older. Dark and gray-eyed like virtually all of the Daultons, he had been inches shorter than most at barely six feet, and wiry rather than massive. But he’d had his father’s face, without doubt, a dramatic handsomeness that already, even then when he was so young, showed the first signs of dissipation.
“Did he drink?” Amanda asked suddenly.
“Brian? No more than on social occasions, I believe. If it’s all those lines on his face you’re looking at, chalk it up to about eighty percent heredity and twenty percent a life spent outdoors in the sun. And his temper probably contributed.”
Amanda hesitated, then said, “Before I came here, I did read some things about the family.” She glanced warily at Walker to find him looking at her, and rushed on before he could pounce on this admission of deliberate study. “All the Daulton men tend to have bad tempers, don’t they? Going back hundreds of years.”
“So they say.”
“I don’t remember my father having a temper.”
“Don’t you?” Walker apparently considered and rejected an urge to remark—no doubt suspiciously— on the point of what she should and shouldn’t remember, then shrugged and added, “I don’t think his temper was too bad.”
Amanda wanted to ask him to elaborate on that a bit, but decided to let the subject drop. Instead, she looked at the little girl in the painting, with her short black hair done up in careful curls embellished with a pink ribbon and her wide gray eyes filled with innocence and that sweet smile.
As surely as if she turned her head and saw him, Amanda knew that the tall man beside her was also looking at the little girl in the painting and, as surely as if he spoke aloud, she knew what he was thinking. She wasn’t very surprised to hear herself respond to the doubts that lay heavily between them.
“People change so much from toddler to adult. But, still, you’re convinced I was never that little girl. My hair is straight, not curly like hers. My mouth isn’t bow-shaped. And look—aren’t her ears set just a fraction higher than mine? That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it, Walker?”
After a long moment, he said, “More or less.”
She looked at him then, turning so that she faced him squarely. His face was hard, and she wondered if she had imagined, earlier today, that he might feel a twinge of sympathy or compassion for her. If she hadn’t imagined it, it had certainly been a fleeting thing.
Quite deliberately, she made no attempt to assuage his disbelief. Instead, in a mild tone, she merely said, “Aren’t we supposed to meet in the front parlor before supper?”
“That’s the custom,” he said, as matter-of-fact as she had been.
But when he stepped back and gestured for her to precede him, she was virtually certain she caught a spark of anger in his eyes. It was, she decided, the first crack in his armor of imperturbability.
Now all she had to figure out was whether it would be a good thing or a bad one to annoy, needle, and otherwise provoke Walker McLellan until he felt about her instead of merely thinking about her.
“APARTY IS WHAT WE NEED,” JESSE SAID decisively, after the salad and before the entree. “Reintroduce Amanda to our friends and neighbors. Maggie, Kate, you see to the arrangements. Make it a week from this Saturday night.”
“All right, Jesse,” Kate said.
“it’s getting hotter,” Maggie said practically as she helped Earlene serve the main course around the formal dining table. “Why not something casual like a cookout?”
“Japanese lanterns by the pool?” Reece suggested. “I have a show,” Sully said.
Walker was watching Amanda, who sat across from him on Jesse’s right. The idea of a party to meet the neighbors, he decided, didn’t suit her at all. Not that she was frowning or clearly upset, but there was definite wariness in her eyes and a tinge of uneasiness in her expression.
“Jesse, maybe—” she began, but her soft voice was unintentionally drowned out when Jesse snapped at his younger grandson.
“there’s no reason why you have to go to that show—or any other, for that matter. It isn’t like you’re riding.”
Sully’s already militant expression darkened even more, and he shot a flinty look at his grandfather. “I trained those horses and I’ll damned well be there when they’re shown. It’s a three-day event, for God’s sake—and two of my riders have never been over the course.”
“So? The others have. And stop making noises like it’s an Olympic trial. It’s sponsored by a barbecue house.” Jesse laughed derisively. “The prize money stinks, and—”
“And it’s experience for the horses and riders,” Sully reminded him harshly. “I have to be there.”
“No,
you don’t. You have to be here. Understand?” Jesse waited a moment, then repeated very deliberately, “Understand, Sully?”
A dull flush crept up Sully’s face and his gray eyes were stormy. But he gave in. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, I understand.”
Nobody at the table spoke until Maggie slid into her place after the serving was done and remarked, “With a dozen new young horses to start training this summer, Sully, I’m surprised you even want to leave.”
Her casual tone was just right, easing the tension around the table and providing Sully with an easy out.
With a smile—however faint and brief—in her direction, Sully said, “That’s true enough.”
“About the party,” Kate said. “The usual people, Jesse?”
Jesse nodded. “We’ll have steaks. And that band from Nashville, the one we got last time.”
“Two weeks isn’t much notice,” Walker commented, “and the band’s probably already booked for that weekend. It’ll cost you, Jesse.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said the man who had just disparaged a small equestrian event for having modest prize money. Sublimely unconscious of inconsistency, Jesse smiled at Amanda. “you’ll like our friends and neighbors, honey.”
“I’m sure I will,” she murmured.
Walker wondered if she had abandoned the idea of protesting because she’d thought better of it or simply because Sully’s attempt had quickly taught her the futility of arguing with Jesse. He didn’t know, and her face gave nothing away.
It was a lovely face, no argument there. Even sitting at the same table with Kate, Amanda more than held her own. The finely drawn and delicate features might not be recognizably Daulton, but they were certainly attractive.
No. Beautiful. And surrounded by all these large, sun-bronzed, and robust people, she seemed doll-like in her pale, exquisite beauty. Even the casual spring dress she wore was a soft thing, touching her body lovingly.
Couldn’t fault her taste, so far anyway.
Looking at her across the table during the remainder of the meal, Walker watched her sip the red wine Jesse had chosen—to celebrate her return, he’d said— and listened with half his attention to Reece telling her that Glory’s summer parties were famous, there were usually four or five every year, and that the band from Nashville was really a good one. Reece seemed intent on making up for Sully’s churlish taciturnity; he was as polite and friendly to his “cousin” as Jesse could have wished.
“Do you still ride, Amanda?” he asked her about the time everyone was finished eating.
“No, I’m afraid not.” She smiled and didn’t elaborate.
“Pity. The only real way to see some of the prettiest parts of Glory is on horseback. There’s a mountain trail, for instance, with a gorgeous waterfall.”
“I’ll make a point of seeing it,” she promised him, “on foot. I like to take walks.”
She had very delicate hands, Walker thought. They were small, with long, slender fingers tipped with neat oval nails, and, though graceful, seemed without force. If she’d inherited the rather fierce Daulton strength as well as gray eyes, it certainly wasn’t apparent, Walker decided—and then realized where his unguarded thoughts had led him.
What on earth was wrong with him? He had no more reason tonight to believe she was the real Amanda than he’d had at any point today or in weeks past. Less, in fact, after she herself had blandly pointed out the lack of resemblance between her and Christine Daulton—and between her and the little girl she had once supposedly been.
And the fact that, after pointing out the lack of any resemblance, she had not made the slightest attempt to offer any explanation for those differences made it worse. She didn’t give a damn whether he believed her, Walker reflected grimly, because after her welcome to Glory, she could now be fairly confident that Jesse did.
And Jesse’s belief was all that really mattered.
“The path to King High is a nice walk,” Kate told Amanda in her usual tranquil voice. “there’s a creek with a footbridge and a little gazebo. And straight through the valley is lovely if you don’t mind going through the pasture.”
Even Kate accepts her.
Walker heard himself say, “She minds. She’s afraid of horses.” And he was only a little startled to realize he sounded as morose as Sully on a bad day.
Amanda seemed surprised as she looked at him, but all she said, and with a quiet dignity that turned his assertion into an unjust accusation, was, “I know I used to love horses, but I had a fall when I was about twelve. A bad fall. And, no, I don’t like horses anymore. I’m sorry if that disappoints everyone.”
Walker felt like a total bastard, despite all his furious silent reminders to himself that she was probably lying through her teeth. Naturally she’d had to think up some excuse for being afraid of horses when the real Amanda had loved them.
Jesse reached over to pat her hand. “Everybody understands that, honey,” he said, sounding relieved that her un-Daultonlike trepidation had a reasonable cause. “A bad fall can shake anybody’s nerve. And who knows? Now that you’re home and around horses, you’ll probably be riding again before you know it.”
She looked doubtful, but smiled at him. “Maybe. Anyway, I’ll … probably avoid the pastures for a while.”
“Still plenty of trails,” Reece told her cheerfully.
“And I have a map with them all marked out,” Jesse said, giving her hand a last pat. “Remind me later to get it for you, honey—it’s in my study.”
“Is everybody ready for dessert?” Maggie wanted to know.
Amanda excused herself at just after eight o’clock, pleading tiredness after a rather full day, and left the others in the parlor—all the others except Sully, who had vanished after supper without explaining where he meant to go. Instead of going directly up to her room, she slipped out the front door and walked across the porch to lean against a white column and gaze over the neat front lawn of Glory.
In late May it was still fairly cool in the evenings, and though Daylight Savings Time was supposed to delay the sun setting, it appeared to sink early here in the shadow of the mountains; twilight had arrived. The air was crisp, the light plentiful without being bright, and a full moon was rising.
Her mind was full of thoughts and questions and speculations, all of them churning, and one of those thoughts was that she might be simply too tired to sort out everything right now. Let everything soak in for tonight, she thought. Tomorrow I’ll be able to start figuring this out.
But, even weary, she was too restless to go up to her room just yet, and the thoughts wouldn’t just lie there obediently and seep into her tired mind, content to be explored tomorrow.
Hard to believe she’d been at Glory only a matter of hours. It seemed much longer. Yet, at the same time, she felt very much a stranger here, very wary of saying the wrong word or doing the wrong thing. And they watched her so much, all of them, with expressions that ran the gamut from Maggie’s neutrality to Sully’s hostility.
The biggest hurdle was behind her: Jesse. He all but danced with delight whenever he saw her, and if, as she shrewdly suspected, his belief that she was his Amanda had more to do with hopes inspired by his failing health than any evidence she had offered—well, the end result was nevertheless what she cared about.
Unless something pretty serious happened to shake his faith in her—such as an absolutely conclusive negative finding by the private lab doing the DNA tests— Jesse was unlikely to be swayed by anyone else’s doubts about her.
Walker McLellan’s, for instance.
He had assigned to himself the role of observer in their little drama, and it was clear he intended to remain detached and alert while the situation evolved. The dispassionate lawyer, far removed from a tangled situation and untidy emotions. But whoever had said that bit about the best-laid plans of mice and men had known what he was talking about; Walker, it seemed, was having trouble sticking to his plan.
He had watched her m
ost of all, often with contained but discernible irritation, and if she had the satisfaction of knowing she had disturbed his emotions as well as his logical and analytical mind, that satisfaction was somewhat marred by his definite suspicion of her.
The opening of the door behind her caught Amanda’s attention, but she only looked back over her shoulder to watch Walker cross the porch and join her.
“I don’t see your car,” she said, for something to say, as she returned her attention to Glory’s front lawn.
“I walked over.” He nodded toward the west, and when she looked she thought she could make out the beginning of a path that started at the edge of the lawn and disappeared into the woods.
“Handy,” she noted.
“And good exercise.” His voice was cool once more.
Since he didn’t seem to be leaving yet, Amanda cast about in her mind for a safe subject. “Why doesn’t Sully ride in the shows? Isn’t he good enough?”
“he’s probably the best rider in the Southeast,” Walker told her, still dispassionate. “But he’s too big and heavy to give most horses a decent chance over jumps. So—he trains them. And other people show them.”
“How … galling,” she said slowly. “Not to be able to do fully what you love most.”
“Sympathy? he’d hate that, and it’s wasted. What Sully loves most is Glory. As long as he has this place, He’ll be fine.”
“But he doesn’t have it, does he? I mean—” Damn, why did I have to say that?
“I know what you mean.” His impersonal voice took on a sardonic edge. “No, Glory belongs to Jesse, to give or bequeath as he chooses, and everyone here knows it. Kate, Sully, Reece, all of them raised here and all of them with their lives invested in this place, could find themselves out in the cold without so much as a by-your-leave. If Jesse so decrees. And once he makes his wishes known, there isn’t a judge in the state who’d set aside his will. Is that what you wanted to know?”
