by Kay Hooper
She should have made sure, since it was her responsibility as well as his—why hadn’t she? In twenty years, she had not once so lost control of herself with any man that she hadn’t made very sure protection was used; she’d had no intention of being forced to deal with an unexpected pregnancy.
And even though she wasn’t much worried now about getting pregnant—she’d been on the pill for nearly a year to correct a hormonal imbalance—she was more than a little unsettled by such an unprecedented lack of caution. Why hadn’t she reminded Ben? Why hadn’t she even noticed?
And why had Ben, always before so observant of her wishes, forgotten this time?
Kate rubbed her forehead fretfully, then made a halfhearted attempt to smooth her hair and looked down at herself. The back of her blouse was probably one big grass stain, and the stuff was probably all in her hair. She knew her lips were swollen because they were hot and tender, and her breasts felt heavy, aching, and sensitized. She knew she looked as if she’d just left a lover.
“you’re about as far from being virginal as a woman can get.”
Cheap, he’d meant. She was cheap. She had given herself to too many men, mostly for the wrong reasons, and what she had to show for the various brief relationships was … nothing.
Her life was going by with shocking speed, and what did she have? She had no career, no absorbing interest to fill her time, no skill to refine. She had no husband, no child, no home of her own—because Jesse would certainly leave Glory to Amanda or, failing that, one of the boys, Sully probably. But Amanda was more likely, of course, and even if she wanted Kate to stay, it would be impossible.
She could have a house of her own, Kate thought vaguely. She had a trust fund that had come from the mother she’d never known, more than enough for a house … and a life.
But the house wouldn’t be Glory, and the life … What would the life be? Ben had been right about that, too. She didn’t have a life. And when Jesse was gone, even whatever she had now would be in the grave with him.
She had tried all her life to get her father to look at her and see her—if not as a loved daughter, then at least as a person who counted—and no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, it had never been enough.
It would never be enough.
Kate felt very much alone right now, and the anguish was terrible.
Walker saw the dog first, and stood waiting until the big black and tan animal bounded up to him. “Hello, Bundy. What are you doing so far from home?” The Dobermans, trained to guard, tended to stick close to Glory; he couldn’t remember ever finding them out here.
Bundy paused to have his small, pointed ears briefly rubbed, then whirled away and went a few yards before halting to stare back at Walker, his stump of a tail wagging.
“Okay, Lassie,” Walker said, amused at himself for reading human intelligence—or, at least, deliberation —into canine behavior, “I’ll follow.”
He did, and it wasn’t until he topped a rise and stood looking down on a clearing that Walker realized he had unconsciously expected to find Amanda with the other dog. He had noticed, during the past few evenings, that they seemed to have adopted her, and Jesse had told him, proudly, that Amanda had won them over.
After a momentary hesitation, Walker began making his way down the slight incline toward her. She hadn’t seen him. Hands on her hips, she was studying the clearing with a faint frown of puzzlement.
“it’s called a bald,” Walker said.
She jumped and glared at him. “Dammit, don’t sneak up on a person.”
It was the first time since they had met that she’d looked at him without wariness in her eyes, and Walker was surprised by how different she seemed. More vivid and alive. Younger somehow—or maybe that was due to her jeans and the way she’d tied her hair back with a colorful silk scarf.
“I didn’t sneak,” Walker told her, “you just didn’t hear me.”
Amanda eyed him when he stopped a couple of feet away from her. “Next time wear a bell,” she told him.
He ignored the suggestion. “These clearings,” he said with a slight gesture, “are called balds.”
She accepted the change of subject with a shrug. “This is the second one I’ve seen today. Did somebody cut all the trees?” she asked.
“No, trees won’t grow here. Nobody knows why. There are balds scattered all through the mountains. Ones like this—where there’s only grass, weeds, and wildflowers—are called grass balds. Heath balds support some shrubbery. But never trees.”
“A little eerie,” she commented, her tone thoughtful.
Walker shrugged. “Superstition has it that the balds were created when the devil walked through the mountains; each footfall resulted in a bald. And, of course, nothing of any consequence would dare grow in the devil’s footprints.”
“Definitely eerie.” She lifted her gaze to the spectacular scenery all around them and added, “And … almost … believable. I wonder why.”
“Probably because these are old mountains, and the age shows. They were here when the world was young. When uncanny things might have been possible. When giants might have roamed the earth.” He paused, then added, “Dinosaurs, maybe.”
Amanda smiled slightly. “I thought you were getting a little whimsical there for a minute. Very unlike you, Walker. Dinosaurs, huh?”
“They were everywhere else.”
She gave a little laugh and shook her head, but whether at his comment or his reliance on science over less tangible faiths, he couldn’t tell.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked, then looked around them with a frown. “I am still on Daulton land?”
“This is Daulton land. And I’m out here because I sometimes am on Saturdays. I enjoy hiking. As you obviously do.” He shrugged. “I sometimes ride, but my horse cast a shoe the other day and …”
Even as his voice trailed off, the wariness returned to shadow her eyes. She slid her hands into the front pockets of her jeans and looked at him with a faint smile holding far less humor and acceptance than only moments before.
“I suppose I hadn’t thought about you on a horse, but everyone else around here seems to ride. Do you show horses?”
“No, I’m a Sunday rider,” he told her, surprised at the pang of regret he felt. “Barely good enough to know what I’m doing in the saddle, and for pleasure only. I have an old retired show horse that gives me a quiet, calm ride when I feel the urge—which is less and less frequently these days. I probably would have sold him years ago, but since he’s pastured with the broodmares, he has company and exercise even if I don’t take him out for months.”
“The broodmares?”
“Glory’s. Expectant mothers seem to do better in quiet surroundings while they’re waiting to foal, and all the barns and paddocks at Glory tend to be on the noisy side with so much activity going on. So Jesse and my father made a deal years ago, before I was born. Jesse provided the money to rebuild and keep up the old stables at King High—which hadn’t been used for anything except hacks in years—and put up new fencing. In return, he has pasture and stable rights for his broodmares. I have the pleasant sights and sounds of horses at my place without the responsibilities or expense, and my pastureland is kept in good shape.”
“And the horses have a quiet place to foal.”
“Right. The vet visits regularly, and a couple of stablehands keep the place neat and keep an eye on the mares. One of Jesse’s people usually rides over every other day or so to check on them.”
“Victor?” she guessed.
“Sometimes. So You’ve met him?”
“Yes.” She didn’t elaborate.
Walker looked at her thoughtfully. “he’s excellent with horses. A bit rough-edged with people.”
Amanda nodded responsively, but her eyes were even more wary than before. Before he could comment, however, both dogs whined rather insistently, demanding attention.
“it’s later than I thought,” Amanda said, looki
ng at her watch. “Almost their suppertime. All right, guys, We’ll go back to the house.”
She glanced at Walker, but didn’t offer a farewell, and he told himself that was why he fell into step beside her as she turned away from the bald and toward a path that would lead them to the house.
“Jesse made a copy of that map for me,” she said.
“Did he?”
“Yes. So—I can find my way back. If you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.” Walker didn’t offer her an excuse for accompanying her back to Glory, mostly because he didn’t have one.
She sent him another quick glance, which he met calmly, then said a bit hastily, “Maggie keeps warning me about snakes, but I haven’t seen any so far.”
He wondered why that particular topic had suggested itself to her, but decided not to question. “Copperheads can be deadly, but you’re more likely to see black snakes and they’re harmless. Just keep your eyes open and watch where you step. This time of year, with everything green, copperheads are fairly easy to see since they’re marked with bands of reddish colors.”
Amanda nodded gravely. “Thanks for telling me. I guess I should probably wear hiking boots when I’m out like this.”
Walker, who was wearing boots, looked down at her running shoes and agreed. “Safer—and probably better for your feet. Running shoes are designed for smooth surfaces.”
They walked in silence for several minutes, the path they followed winding among tall trees in a steady but slight downhill grade, and then she spoke abruptly. “I know Jesse has cancer.”
He wasn’t especially surprised, either by the statement or by his inability to determine from her composed expression how she felt—or if she felt anything at all—about the matter. “Maggie tell you?”
“Sully.”
“One of them was bound to. I had a feeling Jesse wouldn’t.” “Why not?”
“Because he doesn’t want pity. Especially from you.”
She digested that in silence for a moment, then said, “Sully told me—he probably wouldn’t last until Christmas.”
Evenly, Walker said, “That’s what the doctors say.” “Does Maggie know that?” “Of course she does. Why?”
Amanda shook her head. “I just—I don’t think she wants to believe it, that’s all.”
Walker shrugged. “Probably not. She’s been at Glory a long time, since Kate was born. She’s the only one of us even close to being Jesse’s contemporary, and they understand each other.”
“You understand him too, don’t you?”
He looked ahead of them to watch the dogs crisscrossing the path, always within sight of Amanda, then looked at her briefly. “Well enough. Why?”
“It was a fairly unimportant question,” she said after a moment, her tone now as guarded as her eyes. “You don’t have to pounce on it as if I were trying to pry a secret out of you.”
“Did I do that? Sorry. Call it an occupational hazard.”
“I wish I could call it that. But I think we both know it’s something else. I’m not trying to pump you for information, Walker, I was just curious.”
“I said I was sorry.” He was conscious of tension, of an abruptly heightened awareness between them that their mutual distrust seemed to intensify. He was, suddenly, so conscious of her that he could almost hear her breathing.
“So you did.” Her voice was very noncommittal.
Silence again, thick this time. Walker didn’t like it, but said nothing as they walked on. Eventually they came to a fairly narrow stream, and she paused on the bank, frowning. Since there were large, flat stones arranged by nature or human hands to provide an easy and sturdy crossing, he assumed something else was bothering her.
“What?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral.
“This looks like a new stream—it’s hardly cut into the ground at all. Didn’t we pass through an older dry streambed back there?” she asked, her own voice carefully prosaic.
He nodded.
“Did beavers change the course of the stream, or—”
“They do from time to time, but this was from a flash flood last year. They’re fairly common in the spring and early summer. The force of the floodwaters caused broken branches and brush to dam up the stream and reroute it. The next flood may change it again—or put it back the way it was.”
“Oh.” She stepped on the flat stones to cross over.
“you’re very observant,” he noted, following her.
“Just curious by nature.” She paused, then added deliberately, “About most everything. I tend to ask a lot of questions.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Her smile was brief. “Sure you will.”
Her disbelief bothered him a lot more than it should have. “You could meet me halfway, you know,” he suggested. “Supply a few answers instead of just questions.”
She paused as the path they were following ended at the edge of the woods on the northwest side of the lawn, and watched the dogs race off toward the end of the rear wing of the house. As if she hadn’t heard him, she said, “I guess they mean to get to the house by going through the garden. It’s closer from this point, anyway.”
Walker caught her arm when she would have followed the dogs. “Discussion over?” he demanded cynically.
She looked up at him, for a moment expressionless, and pulled her arm from his grasp. Then she said, “I thought it was. Meet you halfway? When you’re still pretty much avoiding the bare courtesy of using my name? Why on earth would I want to tell you anything at all?”
He watched her walk away from him, telling himself her words were no more than a facile justification for her secrecy, her evasiveness, and her refusal to come clean about her past. He told himself that several times, emphatically. He was not in the wrong, she was.
So why in hell did he feel so defensive?
“Dammit,” he muttered, and followed her.
AMANDA HADN’T EXPECTED HIM TO come after her, and when he caught up to her at the edge of the garden, she had no idea how she would react.
“Amanda, wait.”
“So you do know the name,” she marvelled, more sharply than she intended.
He didn’t try to stop her, but walked beside her on the wide main path that wound through the garden and led toward the house.
“I haven’t avoided using it,” he told her. “Not deliberately, anyway.”
“That makes it worse.”
“Don’t hold me accountable for my subconscious. We both know I’m not convinced you’re Amanda Daulton.”
She stopped and stared at him, wishing this didn’t bother her so much but unable to pretend it didn’t. “And I can’t prove to you that I was born Amanda any more than I can prove I was born a Daulton. But, dammit, Amanda is my name. I’ve never been called anything else. At least give me that much.”
He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “All right. You’re Amanda.”
“Thank you.”
She wondered if he really accepted it this time, but managed to keep most of the sarcasm out of her tone. She continued along the path, following the impatient dogs, who never got out of sight of her and so couldn’t get far ahead in the maze of the garden. She was too aware of Walker beside her, and it worried her to know how easily he could shake her off balance.
Maggie greeted them at the door of the sunroom and told Amanda she would take the dogs to be fed. Though the Dobermans accepted Amanda completely, they had been very carefully trained with security in mind and would accept food from only two people: Jesse and Maggie.
“Are you coming to supper, Walker?” she asked.
“Am I invited?” He was looking at Amanda.
Amanda sat down on the foot of a rattan lounge and pulled the scarf from her hair, wondering even as she did it if she wanted to hide behind a protective veil of hair. Mildly, she said, “Kate’s the hostess of Glory, not me.”
Maggie looked from Amanda to Walker, seemingly amused, then told the lawyer, “we
’re eating at seven tonight since Jesse won’t be back until late. You’re welcome.”
“Thanks,” he said dryly.
When the housekeeper had called the dogs to heel and left the sunroom, Walker sat down in a wrought-iron chair near Amanda’s lounge and looked at her.
Interpreting that look, she said in a dry tone of her own, “Since I don’t belong here, how could I issue any kind of an invitation?”
“Was that your reason?” he asked.
Amanda fixed her attention on the scarf for a moment, smoothing the silk and loosely folding it. But he was waiting for a response with characteristic patience, and she finally dropped the scarf beside her on the lounge’s floral cushions and met his steady gaze.
“Believe it or not, that is more or less the reason. Jesse accepts me, but the others haven’t yet, and I don’t want to presume.”
Walker didn’t react with either belief or disbelief; he merely said, “Jesse won’t be here tonight to … keep a tight rein on the situation.”
Amanda had thought of that, and she wasn’t particularly looking forward to the evening. She managed a shrug. “And you think the results might be entertaining? Fine. Come watch. But I don’t plan to provoke anybody.”
Walker stood up when she did, but he didn’t follow when she headed toward the hallway, and he spoke only when she reached the door. “Amanda?”
She paused to look back at him.
“If you brought along any armor, you’d better wear it tonight.” His voice was mocking.
“Thanks for the suggestion.” She went out of the sunroom, catching a glimpse of her tense face in the mirror that hung on the wall as she turned the sharp corner into the hallway, and told herself to stop letting the man get to her. Why did she always feel so … so prickly when he was near?
What she needed to do, and quickly, was cultivate an attitude of complete indifference toward the lawyer. It shouldn’t be that hard, Amanda reassured herself. All she had to do was remember why she was here. That should be enough.
