The Last Honest Woman

by Nora Roberts

  Once outside, Maddy swung into the saddle with athletic ease. Chantel hesitated, fumbled and finally managed to mount the mare. Abby decided to keep Judd to a walk beside her sister. "We can go up this road. It runs along the east side of the property where we'll be planting hay in a couple of weeks."

  "Planting hay." Chantel's mare stood soberly while she looked lazily around. "How rural of you."

  Maddy chuckled. "Okay, Miss Hollywood, let's ride."

  Chantel shifted down in the saddle. "Better, Miss New York, let's race." As Abby's mouth dropped open, Chantel pressed her heels to the mare's sides and lunged forward. Maddy started to shout a warning, then realized it wasn't necessary. Chantel was laughing and riding beautifully.

  "Always full of surprises," Maddy said to Abby.

  Abby skimmed her own heels over Judd. "What are we waiting for?"

  For more than half a mile she rode free, easily matching Maddy's pace. It brought memories of childhood. Chantel had always been the leader then, as well. Even with the grueling schedules of trains and buses and one-night stands, they'd managed to fight and play like most children. Even prior to birth, they'd had each other. Nothing had changed that.

  They pulled up, breathless and laughing, where Chantel waited at the top of the crest.

  "Where'd you learn to ride like that?" Maddy demanded.

  Chantel simply fluffed her hair. "Darling, just because you gulp vitamins and jog ten miles a day doesn't mean you're the only O'Hurley with any athletic ability." When Maddy snorted, she grinned. The Hollywood actress was gone, and Chantel was just a woman enjoying a joke. "I've just come off a Western, Wyoming circa 1870." She arched her back and rolled her eyes. "I swear I spent more time in the saddle than any cattle rustler. Lost a half inch off my hips."

  Abby controlled Judd as he danced sideways. "It's not all flashy premieres and lunches at Ma Maison, is it?"

  "No." Then she tossed her hair back and shrugged. "But you do what you do best, it you're smart. Isn't that what you're doing?"

  Abby glanced around the land she'd fought so hard to keep. "Raising children and planting hay. Yes, I suppose it's what I do best."

  "I can't say I envy you, but I do admire you." They began to walk the horses, Chantel in the middle, Abby to the left and Maddy to the right, in the same position they'd used before more audiences than they could have counted.

  Maddy adjusted the stride of her horse to match her sisters'. "Do you remember that time in that little place just outside Memphis?"

  "The place where all the customers drank straight bourbon and looked as though they could chew raw meat?" Abby shook her hair back and looked at the sky. "God, it's hard to believe we lived through that one."

  "Lived through it," Chantel repeated, buffing her nails on her suede jacket. "Darling, we were a smash."

  "Yeah, there were about six bottles smashed that night, as I recall."

  Remembering made Maddy chuckle. "On opening night I pretend I'm about to play in Mitzie's Place outside Memphis. I tell myself whatever happens can't be as bad."

  "What are you going to do when you get back?" Abby asked her. "Are you really leaving Suzanna's Park? It looks like it'll have a long run on Broadway."

  "Over a year of dancing the same routines, saying the same words." Maddy clicked to her horse as he took an interest in the shrubbery on the side of the road. "I wanted something new, and as it turned out, there's a play in the works now. If they find an angel, we could be in rehearsals in a couple months. I'm a stripper."

  "A what?" Chantel and Abby said in unison.

  "A stripper. You know, bump, grind, take it off. The character's wonderful, a lady of free spirit and morals who meets the guy of her dreams and pretends she's a librarian. And no, I won't actually bare my full talent on stage. We want to bring in the family crowd, as well."

  "What about you, Chantel? Taking a break?" Abby asked.

  "Who could stand it? I'm going to start shooting a miniseries in about ten days. Did you read Strangers?"

  "God, yes, it was wonderful. I thought-" Maddy's words trailed off, and her eyes widened. "You're going to play Hailey. Oh, Chantel, what a wonderful part. Abby, did you read it?"

  "No, I don't get a lot of time to read anymore." It was said simply, without malice."

  "It's all about this-"

  "Maddy." Chantel cut her off as they rode beside a big spreading elm. "Let's not give her the whole story line. You can watch it in the comfort of your own home in a few months, Abby."

  It no longer surprised her that she could indeed snuggle on the living room sofa and watch her sister on television. "Somehow I never thought you'd do TV again," Abby commented.

  "Neither did I, but the script was too good. Anyway, it might be interesting to go back." She rarely admitted she liked challenges. The image of glamour and ease had been too hard-won. "I haven't worked the small screen since my sensuous-shampoo and brighter-than-white-toothpaste ads." They were far enough away from the house now, and Abby seemed relaxed. Chantel and Maddy exchanged a glance. Agreement needed no words.

  "What about you, Abby?" Chantel tugged on the reins and skirted around easily to put Abby in the middle. "What's the story with you and Crosby?"

  "The story," she said simply, "is what Dylan came here to write. I have to tell it, at least parts of it."

  "Does feeling the way you do about him make it easier?"

  Abby absorbed Maddy's question. She didn't have to tell either of her sisters that she was in love. They could feel it almost as strongly as she did. "In some ways. I'd planned to, well- I guess I'd planned to restructure the facts. That doesn't work with Dylan, because he knows just by looking at me whether or not I'm being up-front with him. So I have to tell him the truth."

  Chantel felt her temper start to rise. "Have you told him what a bitch Janice Rockwell is? How she treated you and the boys after Chuck died?"

  "That's not really relevant, is it?"

  "Well, I for one would like to read it in black and white," Maddy muttered. "What she did was criminal"

  "What she did was perfectly within the law," Abby corrected. "Just because it wasn't right doesn't mean it wasn't legal. Anyway, I think I'm better off the way things turned out. Made me shape up."

  "I think he should know it all," Chantel insisted. "All the details, all the angles. Race driver's wealthy mother leaves widow and children impoverished."

  "Oh, Chantel, it wasn't as bad as that. We were hardly begging for pennies."

  "It was as bad as that," she corrected. "Abby, if you're going to trust him with some, you should trust him with everything."

  "She's right." Maddy was silent a moment. The sun was warm and bright, the scent of new grass pungent, but she could sense the turmoil within her sister. "I thought the whole idea was a mistake, but now that it's being done, it should be done properly. Look, I know there were plenty of things you didn't tell us. You didn't have to. Don't you think you'd feel better, feel freer, if you finally got it all out?"

  "I'm not thinking of me. I've learned to deal with it. I'm thinking of the boys."

  "Do you think they don't know?" Chantel said quietly.

  "No." She looked down at her hands, voicing what she'd been avoiding for the longest time. "They know; not the details, but they've sensed the mood. What they don't know now they'll find out sooner or later. I just want Dylan to write it with enough compassion so when they're old enough they can accept it all."

  "Does he have any?" Chantel asked her.

  "Any what?"

  "Compassion."

  "Yes." Abby smiled then, relaxing again. "A surprisingly large amount."

  That was something Chantel intended to test for herself. "How does he feel about you?"

  "He cares." In unspoken agreement, they turned the horses back. "I think he cares more than he ever bargained for, not only about me but the kids. It won't make any difference when he's finished. He'll leave."

  "Then you have to make him stay."

 
Abby smiled at Maddy. "You got all the optimism. Chantel got all the guile."

  "Thank you very much." Only half-amused, Chantel picked up the pace.

  "Maddy can just believe strongly enough and things happen. You make them happen. I just shuffle around the cards I've been dealt until I have the best hand I can manage. I can't make Dylan stay, because if he asked, I couldn't go. I'm not eighteen and impulsive anymore. I have two children."

  Chantel held her head high and let the wind take her hair. It was a sensation of absolute freedom she couldn't often allow herself. "I don't see why you should make him stay in the first place. Some women put too much emphasis on having a man complete their lives. They should be fulfilled in the first place-then a man might be a nice addition."

  "Spoken like a true heartbreaker," Maddy put in.

  "I don't break hearts." Chantel smiled slowly. "I only bruise them a little."

  "I'll gag any minute," Maddy said to her horse. "In any case, just because you and I aren't ready to settle down doesn't mean that Abby isn't entitled to dirty dishes in the sink and someone to take out the garbage."

  "An interesting description of a meaningful relationship," Abby murmured. "As the only one of the three of us who's ever been married, I fed qualified to say that there's a bit more to it than that."

  "Hold on, Abby." Concerned, Chantel slowed her horse. "Who's talking marriage? I'm not saying you shouldn't have a good time with him, enjoy him, certainly, but you can't seriously be thinking about locking yourself in again."

  "Another interesting description," Maddy commented, making Abby laugh.

  "If I thought we had a shot at it and if I could find a foothold for compromise, I'd ask him myself."

  "Then go for it." The sun shot a halo around Maddy's bright, rumpled hair. "If you love him, if he's right for you, why anticipate problems?"

  Chantel gave a quick, amused laugh. "The bulk of this woman's experience with men has been limited to socializing with dancers who stand in front of mirrors all day and admire themselves."

  "Dylan's not a dancer," Maddy pointed out, unbruised. "And the actors you spend time with can't figure out who they really are after a day on the set."

  "Jaded." Abby shook her bead and struggled not to laugh. "I think all of us better stay single."

  "Amen to that," Chantel breathed.

  "Who has time for romance, anyway?" Maddy commented. "Between dance classes, rehearsals and matinees, I'm too tired for candlelight and roses. Who needs men?"

  "Darling, that depends on whether you're talking about a permanent addition or an occasional escort."

  "You're starting to believe your own press," Abby said as the house came into view.

  "Why shouldn't I?" Chantel lifted a brow. "Everyone else does." With a laugh and a kick of her heels, she plunged ahead.

  "Damned if she's going to beat me again!" Maddy was off like a shot.

  Abby took a moment to smile after them before she signaled to Judd, knowing his long, powerful stride would bring her in ahead of her sisters.

  CHAPTER Twelve

  The moonlight was soothing, thin white, and quiet as it fell over the bed. The house, though silent, almost seemed to ring with the echo of voices and laughter, music-the music her family created wherever they went. Her mother playing the banjo while her father danced. Her father playing while all of them sang. Tomorrow they would be gone, but Abby thought it would be a long time before those echoes faded completely.

  Content but far from sleepy, she cradled her head on Dylan's shoulder and just listened.

  It was silly, she supposed, to feel as though she was stealing this time with him. With her family in the house, being with him was like walking on eggshells. He must have felt something of it as well. Now he came to her late at night, after the others were asleep, and left early, at first light.

  They hadn't discussed it. He'd seemed to have understood that she would feel awkward. She was a grown woman, a widow, the mother of two, but she felt entirely too much like a daughter when her parents were under the same roof.

  They might laugh about it later, but for now the echoing silence was too lovely.

  He was listening to his own echoes. The phone calls he'd made while Abby had been occupied with her family had added more pieces to the puzzle. He didn't like all of them. When her family was gone the questions would start again, but he already had a number of answers.

  It was more important to him now that she tell him things he was already aware of, that she trusted him with secrets he already knew. When she did, if she did, maybe they could put yesterdays behind them and deal with tomorrows.

  "Are you asleep?"

  "No." He brushed his lips over her hair. Tonight was the last night for pretenses, and he wanted badly to give her whatever she needed. "I was thinking of your parents. I've never met anyone like them."

  "I'm not sure there is anyone like them." It pleased her. Abby let her eyes half close as memories fluttered through her head.

  "The only thing that scared me was that your father was really insisting he could teach me to tap-dance."

  "The thing is, Pop could teach anyone to dance. I'm living proof." She yawned and settled more comfortably against him.

  "They'll take the limo to the bus station and travel to Chicago."

  "For a three-day gig." She smiled a little, picturing them going over their routine in a cramped motel room. "Chantel wanted to put them on a plane, first class. They wouldn't hear of it. Mom said she'd managed to get where she was going for fifty years without leaving the ground and saw no reason to start now."

  "Your mother's a sensible woman."

  "I know. Sort of a contradiction in terms, isn't it? I think if she ever found herself in suburbia, with a lawn and a chain-link fence, she'd go crazy. She found the perfect partner when she hooked up with Pop."

  "How long have they been together?"

  "Hmmm. About thirty-five years now."

  He was silent for a moment. "Kind of lifts your confidence in the institution."

  "I think one of the reasons I married so quickly was that Mom and Pop made it seem so easy. For them, it really is. I'm going to miss them."

  He heard the wistfulness in her voice and drew her closer. "Never a dull moment. I thought you were going to lose a couple of lamps when Frank decided to teach the boys how to juggle."

  Abby turned her face into his shoulder as she laughed. "There won't be an apple worth eating until Ben gets it out of his system."

  "Better than having him throw them at Chris."

  "Every time." She lifted her head, and though she was still smiling, her eyes were serious as she looked down at him. "I'm glad you were here to meet them. Someday you might be traveling through some small, half-forgotten town and see their names on a marquee. You'll remember me."

  In a habit be knew would be hard to break, he combed his fingers through her hair. "Do you think I'll need a marquee?"

  "It wouldn't hurt." Lowering her mouth, she let it linger on his, warm and sweet. "I'd tike to think you'd remember this." She brushed her hand through his hair, then skimmed her lips over his temple. "And that."

  "I've a good memory, Abby." He took her wrists. The pulses in them were just beginning to quicken. "A very good memory."

  Still holding her, he rolled over, pinning her body with his. There it was, instantly, that splinter of excitement, that calming feeling of rightness. With his lips, he found hers. He didn't release her hands. Not yet. Somehow he knew if she touched him then, he'd explode, go mad, take frantically what he wanted to savor. They had all night, they had years. If he believed hard enough, they had forever. So he held himself a prisoner as much as he held her, letting his lips soothe, arouse and entice.

  He sucked at her tongue, drawing it deep into his mouth, teasing it with his own. Feeling her breath shudder against his mouth, he groaned at the sensation. At each move, her body sank into the mattress, strong enough to take, pliant enough to give. Still holding her wrists, he skimm
ed down the long line of her throat. There was pulse hammering, a flavor tempting. He could have spent hours exploring each tiny spot where her blood pulsed close to the surface. He felt at home. Her body offered him both peace and rest, passion and excitement. He had only to take what he needed most.

  She loved him. It was a wild, terrifying thought. Yet when he released her wrists her arms wrapped around his so naturally, hands soothing and tormenting all at once. She asked for nothing, and by doing so asked for more than he'd thought he could ever give again.

  He was so gentle. Abby wondered if she'd ever get used to the quiet tenderness beneath the fire. His hands molded, caressed. At times his fingers dug unheedingly into her flesh, but there was always such underlying care, such overlying sweetness.

  Whenever she heard his breath grow uneven, she was amazed. She reveled in feeling his muscles quiver and tense beneath her exploring hands. It was for her, from her, with her. Never before, not even in her dreams, had there been a man with such a compelling need for her.

  Yet she wondered if he knew. Even as they took each other deep and fast, feeling the blood heat the surface of their skin, she wondered if he knew what that beyond wanting her, beyond desiring her, he needed her in his life.

  Unless he did, their relationship would end when he had his answers. And she'd already promised to give them to him.

  "Dylan." The sudden stark realization ran through her that he was slipping through her fingers just when she'd learned to grab hold. She had no tricks, no wiles, knew no secret ways to keep a man and bind him to her. She could only give him what was in her heart and hope it was enough for both of them.

  He heard his name come softly from her. He felt the sigh run deep inside her. Because he felt she needed it, he brought his lips back to hers and let her take what she wanted.

  "Slowly." He slipped inside her, cushioning her gasp with his mouth. "I want to watch you climb, Abby."

  The flickers of passion, of pleasure, of wonder on her face aroused him more than he'd ever imagined possible. He'd thought he wasn't the sort of man to give, but with her he was driven to. For years he'd taken, sometimes carelessly, often selfishly. It was never like that with Abby. It left him shaken. It left him wondering.

  Between packing, last-minute details and Saturday-morning cartoons, everyone in the house was occupied. Chantel bided her time. When Dylan went to help the boys tend the stock, she waited a few moments, then slipped out to join them. It was warm for March by East Coast standards, but she shivered inside her jacket and decided she'd be glad to get back to Southern California. Before she went, she had something to do.

  Most of the horses were in the paddock. Chantel wandered over to lean on the fence. He'd come out sooner or later. She could wait.

  Dylan let out the two geldings and saw her. He'd known for days that she had something to say to him. It appeared the time was now. He released the horses and carefully closed the gate behind them. In silence he moved over and joined her at the fence. She took the cigarette he offered. She rarely smoked; it all had to do with mood. She inhaled deeply then let out a long stream of smoke, watching the horses as she spoke.

  "I haven't decided if I like you. It's not really important. Abby's feelings are."

  Dylan decided she couldn't know how closely her words echoed Maddy's. It was just part of the bond. Together they watched as Eve's foal began to nurse. The mare steadied herself against the pull and tug, then stood patiently.

  "I can tell you I didn't like you when you interviewed me about Millicent Driscoll for your last book. Some of it had to do with that period of my life, and the rest was your attitude. I found you abrasive and unsympathetic, so I wasn't as open with you as I might have been. If I had been, maybe you'd have found a little more room for compassion in your story. But Abby's my sister."

  For the first time, she turned to look at him. Even in the strong, unrelenting sunlight, her face was stunning. The classic oval shape, the sweep of cheekbone, the flawless skin. A man could look at that face and forget there was anything else to the woman. But it was her eyes that held his interest. He imagined they'd ruthlessly flayed a great many men.

  "I think you care about Abby, but I'm not sure if you're too tough to let that matter. I want to tell you about Chuck Rockwell in a way I don't think Abby can." She drew in more smoke, appreciating its rough taste. "This is off-the-record, Dylan. If Abby consents to this you can use anything I say. If she doesn't, you're out of luck. Agreed?"

  "Agreed. Tell me."

  "When Chuck came into the club that first night, he was utterly infatuated with Abby. Maybe, for a little white, he was even in love with her. I don't know the kind of women he'd been running with before, but I can imagine. Abby, was, even with the tacky costume and greasepaint, untouched. Gullible's a hard word unless you understand the person, and Abby was and still is gullible." She smiled, not the clever, ice-edged smile she used so often but a simple, easy curving of the lips that was as beautiful as it was revealing. "She believed in love, devotion, till death us do part. She went into marriage with stars in her eyes."