One marriage. One shot.
Then Russell Stone broke her heart because he operated under the same rules as her mother. While her mother was panning for gold he was looking for a golden trophy to sit on his mantle. The truth was Madeline had been bought and paid for. The Winston diamond ring had sealed the deal.
But then she had violated the contract by trying to add love to the deal.
Shaw took center stage and handed Christopher a Canadian newspaper clipping with a picture of a bearded and mustached Russell next to the caption: Do you know this man?
“Denitra and I came across this article while visiting some of her relatives a couple of weeks ago.”
Mystery man has refused to speak since he was found wandering near Nova Scotia coast. The mysterious man seemed unable to answer the simplest questions about who he is or where he comes from.
Christopher glanced up at his brother, unable to imagine what he must have been through these past years. “What happened?” he couldn’t help but ask.
“I don’t know,” Russell answered truthfully. “I don’t know how I got there or even anyone discovering me. I only remember the hospital,” he said.
“The hospital?” Christopher turned back to Shaw.
“Yes. An elderly couple noticed him wandering out there and called the authorities. When the authorities were unable to get any answers out of him, he was taken to Queen Elizabeth Hospital. Their social services are the one’s who had contacted the newspaper.”
“So you don’t know where you’ve been for the past six years?”
Again Russell shook his head. “I’ve tried to remember. But every time I do, I suffer severe migraines.”
“He also has a lot of old scars on his body,” Shaw interjected. “He’s been in some type of accident. That’s for sure.”
Christopher stood. “Show me.”
Uncomfortable with so many pointed gazes in his direction, Russell still climbed to his feet and pulled up his shirt. A round of audible gasps surrounded him as they all peered at his battered and scarred body.
“The plane crash,” Christopher whispered as he approached and inspected a few jagged scars up close. “Is that how you got those?”
Russell just looked haplessly at his brother. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
Christopher nodded, and then broke out with a wide grin. “What’s important is you’re home now.” He wrapped him in another quick embrace.”
Russell was overwhelmed.
Once word of his reappearance hit the grapevine, people poured through Christopher’s door. There was a constant flow of men and women who claimed to be friends and relatives. They all tried to get him to remember their names and events. They would ask if he remembered where they did so-and-so, or that such-and-such was so funny when he was a child, a teenager, or a grown man who should have known better.
It also surprised him how many women slipped cards into his hands or pockets with suggestions that they could pick up where they’d left off—whatever that was supposed to mean.
But through all the plastic smiles an awkward laughs, his mind kept wandering back to Madeline. The picture in Shaw’s file hardly did the woman justice. Now that he’d seen her—touched her, he desperately wanted to remember everything about her.
Somewhere around 2:00 a.m. Christopher finally responded to Russell’s visible exhaustion and led him to one of the vacant guestrooms. In his opinion the room was as big as a studio apartment, complete with a king-size, oak bed with gold silk sheets. On the walls, an eclectic mix of African art surrounded him, as well as an impressive flat-screen television.
“I hope the room is satisfactory,” Christopher said, carrying Russell’s lone, leather duffel bag in behind them.
“It’s…” he looked around again “…it’s more than satisfactory.”
“Good.” Christopher set the bag down on the edge of the bed.
The brightness of his 100-Watt smile had remained intense throughout the busy night. Russell wondered if the thing was permanently chiseled on his face. “Well, I, um, better get some sleep,” he said when Christopher made no move toward the door.
“Oh, yeah. Right.” Christopher walked backward to the door. “I’m sure you’re pretty exhausted and, well, I should let you get some rest.”
Russell nodded, but Christopher stopped short from backing out the door.
“It’s really good…having you home again,” Christopher said.
“It’s good to be back,” he said more out of politeness. “And don’t worry,” he added, reading Christopher’s fear. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Christopher laughed. “I’m gonna hold you to that. Good night.”
“’Night.”
However, his brother stopped one last time at the door threshold, his smile finally dimmed. “About Madeline…”
Russell glanced up.
“She’s just…Well, we can talk about it tomorrow.”
Intrigued, Russell asked the question he’d been dying to know. “How did we meet?”
“What—you and Madeline?” Christopher’s smile returned.
“Yes.” Russell slipped his hands into his pants pockets. “I tried asking Shaw, but he didn’t know. Just gave me the date of our wedding.”
Christopher drew a deep breath. “I guess you could say I introduced you two.”
“Oh?”
He nodded and rubbed at his neck. The smile was gone. “I guess you could also say you sort of stole her right from under my nose.”
“I see.” Russell’s gaze plunged to the hardwood floor. Talk about cramming his foot into his mouth. “We don’t have to talk about this now.”
“No. It’s okay.” Christopher’s laugh sounded more like a misfired engine. “I probably should be thanking you.”
That comment successfully drew Russell’s gaze back to his brother. “Why do you say that?”
A shrug and another misfired laugh. “Madeline is…beautiful no doubt. Grade ‘A’ quality, but, uh…a little hard to manage, if you know what I mean.”
“No. I don’t think I do,” Russell admitted.
“She’s sort of a pistol. Strong willed, overly opinionated and just flat out hard to please.” Christopher snickered. “And I believe those were your words.”
Russell flinched not just because of the cruelty of the words, but because he’s supposedly shared such thoughts with his brother. “She said something about…another woman.”
“Lola Crowne.” Christopher drew a deep breath. “She went down with you…and the plane. You were both presumed dead.” He eyed Russell. “You really can’t remember anything?”
How many times tonight had he been asked that very question and how many times had he said, “I’m sorry”?
“Don’t worry about it,” Christopher said, patting Russell’s back in an awkward attempt to cheer him up. “I’m sure it’ll all come back to you in time.” Christopher headed toward the door.
“We were in love though, right? Madeline and I…at least once upon a time?”
This time, Christopher couldn’t manage a smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.” With that, he left the room and closed the door behind him.
For a long while, Russell stood in the middle of the room, staring at the door while a great emptiness engulfed him. He was home, but he felt more lost than ever. At last, he turned and headed to the adjoining bathroom. It was just as lush and extravagant as the bedroom.
Glancing at his reflection was no different than staring into the numerous faces he’d met tonight. He didn’t know the man in the mirror.
He stripped and stepped into the shower. After feeling the different pulses from the showerhead, he was quite content to stay in there for a long time. The hot water massaged the tension from his body. As he let his mind wander, he reviewed everything that had happened that day.
Most importantly, he thought about Madeline. He wondered what had happened between him and Madeline. Earlier, he’d thought he would b
e returning to the arms of a woman who loved him. In reality, nothing could’ve been further from the truth.
Russell shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. It was hard to argue that he wasn’t Russell Stone. So many people, so many pictures couldn’t be wrong.
Troubled, he toweled off and wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror. As he looked at the unfamiliar man in the reflection, his eyes were drawn to the ugly, jagged scar down the right side of his body. He supposed a plane crash could explain the wound and the many nicks across his arms and legs.
“Russell Stone.” He tried the name on for size and even waited for that magical click of recognition. But the click never came.
In bed, Madeline Stone returned to his thoughts. He imagined what it would be like to pull her body into his arms. What did her full lips taste like…feel like?
Chapter 6
Black Friday—the day after Thanksgiving—lived up to its name.
Madeline not only woke to a massive hangover, but also to find Cecelia glowering down at her.
“What’s this nonsense all over the news about Russell Stone rising from the dead?”
“A little louder, Mom. I don’t think the people down in Florida heard you,” Madeline said.
“They don’t have to hear me, I’m sure they’re getting the news from CNN just like I did this morning. Why didn’t you call me? Why are you still in bed? It’s noon,” Cecelia chided.
“What?” Madeline sat up and squinted at the clock on the bedside dresser. “Oh, God. I told the kids I would take them to the mall.”
“It’s okay. I told them you were sick. They’re over at a neighbor’s house, doing whatever kids their ages do.”
Madeline groaned. “Your parenting skills always dazzle me.” She reached for the phone. “Which neighbor?”
“Stop your bitching. I raised you, didn’t I?”
Madeline wasn’t going to go near that trap with a ten-foot pole.
“They’re fine.” Cecelia took the phone out of her hand and hung it back up. “Now, I’ve waited long enough. Tell me what the hell is going on.”
“There’s nothing to tell. Yesterday at dinner, this detective walks in announcing he’d found Russell and a man looking just like the son-of-a-bitch walked in behind him.”
“Well, is it him?”
Madeline didn’t want anything to do with that question, either.
“Oh, my God.” Cecelia sat down on a corner of the bed. “It is, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Her mother sighed with relief. “Oh, good. Then it isn’t him?”
“I didn’t say that, either.”
“What are you saying?”
Madeline threw her legs over the side of the bed and climbed out. “I’m not saying anything.” She rubbed at her eyes. “I don’t know what I believe.”
“Did he at least say where he’s been all this time? What about the woman he’d disappeared with? Did he finally get tired of her and leave her on some deserted island somewhere?”
Madeline slowly pivoted back toward the bed. “Wow, Mom. What a big imagination you have.”
“What else can I use in a situation like this? How many men do you know that rise from the dead?”
“Good point.”
“But that’s not the point that really matters. If he’s who he says he is what happens with the money?”
“Moooommm.”
Cecelia straightened in her sharp Armani suit. “Madeline, I’m being serious. I suggest you do the same. We need a good offensive and defense on this one.”
“You’re into football now?”
“I’m into winning. And you should be, too.” Cecelia stood and picked up the empty liquor bottle from the nightstand before her sharp gaze impaled Madeline. “You didn’t do anything stupid last night, did you?”
“I’m not ready to deal with this.” Turning, Madeline tried to stomp her way to the bathroom, but it was more like a wobbly walk.
Cecelia marched behind her. “You have to deal with this right now. And frankly, either way you look at it, it’s best to get on this man’s good side,” her mother said.
“Easier said than done.” Madeline piled her hair on the top of her head and clipped it in place. “We weren’t exactly June and Ward Cleaver. Nowhere close. And let’s not forget, he disappeared with his ‘ho’ of the month, Lola.” She squeezed toothpaste onto her brush and began scrubbing like she had a vendetta against plaque.
“Oh, God. You’re starting to sound like a broken record. Were you not handsomely rewarded for his ‘little’ indiscretion?”
Madeline spat out the toothpaste. “Now look who sounds like a broken record,” Madeline said.
“I wouldn’t have to if you’d start paying attention to me. If you wanted loyalty you should have married Christopher. You ignored me and went after the playboy.”
“Christopher—loyal? I should be asking you what you’ve been drinking this morning.”
“Fine. At least, he’s more discrete. How’s that?”
She grudgingly let her mother score a point while she filled her mouth with mouthwash.
“Plus, you made the mistake in thinking you could change Russell Stone.”
Damn. She’s two for two.
“You are exactly the kind of woman who gives women in our profession a bad name.”
“Mom, I’m in a crisis here,” Madeline said, hoping to cut off the Gold digger’s anthem.
“Right. And I say play it safe. You get more bees with honey.”
“I don’t want anything to do with him,” Madeline said as she headed to the shower.
“It’s not what you want. It’s about what you need. You need the houses, the cars, the maids—”
“Moooommm.”
“All right. You need the financial backing for the fashion line. Once that’s launched, and if it’s a success, then you could walk away a rich woman on your own merits. If he’s who he says he is and if you push him toward a divorce, he could have most, if not all, your assets frozen for God knows how long, and then where will you be?”
The pulsing in Madeline’s head accelerated.
Sensing victory, Cecelia’s smile bloomed. “Now, why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me about this dead man walking and let your mother help you to get through this and to come out a winner.”
The phones were ringing off the hook while news vans and helicopters surrounded the Stone estate. So the natural thing for the family to do was to remain walled up in the lavish, two-story mansion. With butlers, maids and cooks, it wasn’t the worst place in the world to be stuck. And yet, Russell felt bad for imprisoning everyone there all the same.
Christopher stared out his study’s windows toward the iron gate. “You can’t blame them,” he said, turning and crossing the room to the empty chair across from Russell. “You are a big story.”
“I feel more like a freak at the circus.”
“Aw.” He waved off his concern. “It won’t last long. Real news has a life expectancy of four to seven days. The tabloids, however, can and will stretch this baby out a good six months.”
“That long?”
“I’m sure even our dogs will be interviewed before the whole thing is over with.” Christopher laughed.
Russell just forced an awkward smile. He grew even more uncomfortable when Christopher’s laughter died and he appeared content to just stare at Russell.
“It’s really good to have you back home,” Christopher said for the hundredth time.
Mercifully, a knock sounded at the door and Coleman, the butler, entered the study.
“Dr. Rountree is here to see you,” he said.
“Yes, yes.” Christopher clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Send him in.” Then to Russell. “It’s time to get this show on the road.”
Dr. Rountree, a short and robust black man, charged into the room with chunky glasses and a lion’s mane of white coarse hair. His gaze immediately fixed on his pa
tient. Then Russell discovered the doctor had a voice that could be undoubtedly heard in every room of the house.
“My God, it is you!” Rountree continued his charge toward Russell. “I didn’t want to believe it until I saw with my own eyes. Where have you been, son?”
“In Canada, if you can believe it,” Christopher answered for him.
“A private dick, Terry Shaw, found him at hospital in Nova Scotia. Said he barely recognized him with this full beard and moustache. Thing is, he doesn’t remember a single thing.”
“Amnesia?” Rountree said the word with wide-eyed wonder. “That’s a rare thing, indeed, despite what Hollywood would lead you to believe,” he added with a laugh that was as loud as a thunderclap.
“Well, I can tell you on this end, it’s not exactly a walk in the park,” Russell informed him. “As soon as we get the blood test back, I’ll at least feel like I’m moving in the right direction.” He caught the flash of disappointment in Christopher’s face and he went on to amend, “Although everyone has been pretty nice to me….”
“Hell, it looks like this test is just a formality. I’ve known you since you were born. You and your brother used to gobble up every piece of candy in my office when you came to see me.”
Christopher perked up again at Rountree’s words. “I told you on the phone it was a miracle.”
“That you did,” Rountree agreed. “Well, let’s get started. The faster we draw the blood and everything, the faster we can get the results back. Unfortunately because of the holiday, we won’t have the results back until Monday. But again, it’s just a formality.”
Chapter 7
“What if it is him?” Madeline mumbled under her breath. She stared into her vanity mirror almost hoping that her mirror image would supply an answer, but all she received was her own cool, blank stare.
“Frankly, I don’t see how it could be,” Lysandra said, perched on the edge of Madeline’s enormous bed. She had arrived while Madeline showered and Cecelia had quickly filled her in on the details. “Why should we believe it’s him?” she continued. “Look how many scams and con artists we’ve been through in the last six years. Why would this time be any different?”
To Love a Stranger Page 4
