- -
- 100%
- +
Kyle bent down, captured her shoes and helped her on with them, Abby noted. He seemed to do it without conscious thought, as if helping Marcie was automatic.
Watching, Abby changed her mind about the refusal that was on the tip of her tongue. At least the man had some redeeming qualities. “Six-thirty it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
She was gone before Kyle could say anything more.
“GOT ONE FOR YOU, Daisy.”
The matronly-looking woman glanced up from her desk at the police officer ushering the young waif into Serenity Shelter’s tiny office.
The older woman’s face was lined, but her soft brown eyes were kind and she smiled in response to the policeman’s words as she rose from behind her desk. “So, where did you find this one, Rick?”
Rick hooked his thumbs onto his belt as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. “In an alley. She was wandering around, dazed.”
Daisy sighed, nodding her head. She peered closer, drawn by the bruises that were just beginning to form. “What’s your name, lamb?”
The policeman answered for her. “She doesn’t know her name.”
Daisy’s eyebrows puckered closer together over a remarkably thin nose. She lowered her voice. “Something wrong with her?”
Rick shrugged, the helpless feeling growing. The young woman he’d found turned to look at him without saying a word. She’d been quiet all the way over here. Quiet on the way to the police station, as well. He supposed losing her memory didn’t leave her with a whole lot to say.
“There’s a bump on her forehead, just where her hair falls over it.” He nodded vaguely in her general direction. “Maybe that did it.” He sucked air in through his teeth. “She says she can’t remember anything.”
“I can’t,” she said softly.
Daisy believed her. The young woman looked as if the sound of her own voice surprised her. Daisy had never had any children of her own. Everyone who passed through the doors of Serenity Shelter was her child. Compassion filled her as she slipped a wide arm around the young woman’s small shoulders.
“Don’t you worry none—it’ll come back to you. But for now, you need a name.” Cocking her head, Daisy looked at her, trying to see beyond the bruises. Trying not to judge whoever had given them to her. That wasn’t her job. “You look a little like my niece, Sara. How about I call you Sara? Would that be all right with you?”
Newly christened Sara nodded her consent.
That settled, there was more. “Has she been seen by a doctor?”
Rick shook his head. “When I checked her for priors and came up empty, I was going to send her to the clinic.” He hesitated. This went beyond duty, but sometimes you had to. “But I thought, in view of the circumstances, maybe you’d want to take her there yourself.”
Daisy snorted. “Checked her for priors, indeed. A sweet-faced little thing like this? Anyone with eyes can see how innocent she is.” And then she nodded. “Yeah, I guess I’ve got time to take her to the clinic. In between my pedicure and my massage.” The sound emitting from her lips was more of a crackle than a chuckle. “Let’s get you checked out, honey, and then we’ll see where we can fit you in.”
Nowhere, Sara thought. I fit in nowhere. She looked at them. They meant well, these people, but they had no idea how it felt to have nothing to think about, nothing to remember.
Daisy reached for her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk, then paused. She saw the look in Sara’s eyes. “It’ll come back to you. Whatever brought you here, it’ll come back.” She nodded at Rick, who then took his leave. “You don’t know how lucky you are, not remembering. Some of the stories I could tell you…”
Sara didn’t feel very lucky. The only feeling she had was a vague sense that something was missing. Something vital. Because there was nothing else, she clung to that as she allowed herself to be ushered out into a world she didn’t recognize.
DRAINED, ABBY DROPPED into her chair. The last patient had finally left several minutes ago. She heard the front door close, telling her that Lisa was hurrying home to her twin boys. They’d packed a lot of work into one day. It was 6:19, and they had seen their full load, plus two unexpected patients who’d pleaded emergencies in order to see her. And Mrs. Calvert had had her triplets two weeks early, to add to the excitement of the day.
Abby wondered if it was poor form just to curl up on one of her examination tables and go to sleep.
“You’re not getting enough vitamins, Abby-girl,” she murmured to herself, trying to summon enough strength to get back on her feet again.
She needn’t have bothered. At 6:20, the telephone rang. The flashing red light told her it was coming in on her personal line. Abby pulled the last remaining pin from her hair, and it came tumbling down her back as she reached for the receiver. At least it wouldn’t be a prospective father calling her to frantically proclaim, “It’s time.” Given her druthers, she really didn’t want to have to face another woman in the throes of labor tonight.
Taking a deep breath, she brought the receiver to her ear. “Abby.”
“Abby, it’s Mother. Put on that little television set you have in your office and turn to channel eight.”
Her mother rarely called her at work, and when she did, it wasn’t to tell her to watch something on television. This wasn’t going to be good.
Opening her side drawer to retrieve the remote control, Abby braced herself. “I take it by your tone, I’m not about to be entertained.” She aimed the remote at the set and pressed the power button.
“Only if your sense of humor has suddenly turned bizarre.”
From the sound of it, her mother was struggling to keep a tight rein on her emotions. Concern took a firmer hold on Abby.
The color on the set came into focus. Flipping quickly, she found Channel 8 and the program that had prompted her mother to call her.
“Son of a gun.”
There, smiling up into the camera, was Chelsea Markum—the reporter Abby had taken the baby from this morning. Along the bottom of the screen scrolled the teaser: “Which of the Maitland Men Sired This Baby?” Beside the reporter was a fuzzy photograph of the baby, obviously lifted and freeze-framed from the video taken earlier.
Stifling an exasperated sigh, Abby leaned forward and turned up the sound.
“…Just as the Maitlands’ PR department released word of a silver anniversary party in the works to celebrate the clinic’s twenty-five years of service, we finally learn that there are skeletons in the very proper Maitland closet, after all. No matter how well respected the family, they obviously have something to hide. Something they’re not proud of. So the question still remains—”
Annoyed, Abby turned off the television set. “Ignore it, Mother.”
Her mother’s voice was calmly logical. “How do I ignore the baby?”
The tension headache that had been building all day now threatened to take Abby’s head off. She pressed her fingers to both temples and massaged, knowing it wouldn’t help. “Good point.”
“I’m calling a family conference tonight.” Megan had always been in tune with her children, so her next words came as no surprise to Abby. “If you’re too tired…”
She was, but she also knew that she had to be there. This was serious and it affected them all. Abby pushed away from the desk. “No, I’ll be there.” With effort, she tried to sound brighter. “I just saw my last patient a few minutes ago and I’m free for the evening. I can be at the house in about twenty minutes.”
“I appreciate it.”
Abby could hear the relief in her mother’s voice. “See you.”
She hung up, then suddenly remembered that despite what she’d said to her mother, she wasn’t free. Marcie McDermott’s brother was coming to try to browbeat her into doing heaven only knew what.
“Not tonight, McDermott,” she murmured.
But as she reached for the telephone, Abby realized that she had no idea what his number was. He’d failed to give her his card. Probably to avoid having the appointment called off, she thought, getting to her feet.
Maybe the number was in Marcie’s file. Lisa had been too busy today to take care of the filing. That meant the files were still stacked on the side of her desk in the order the patients had been seen. Marcie’s would be on the bottom.
As she went into the outer office, now dim and eerily still after all the life that had crossed its floors today, a knock on the door startled Abby.
Crossing to it, she saw the outline of someone tall and broad-shouldered through the frosted glass.
McDermott.
“Speak of the devil,” she murmured to herself.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE LOOKED HARRIED, Kyle thought, when Abby opened the door to admit him. And her eyes looked tired. The kind of tired that came from juggling too many balls at the same time.
He’d seen the same look staring back at him from the mirror.
Would that work to his benefit or not? Would she give in quickly because she was tired, or would it make her irritable and resistant? He was hoping for the former. The argument he’d had with Marcie on the way home nearly nine hours ago was still fresh in his mind. That about filled his quota for the day. Lately, all Marcie did was argue with him, if she spoke to him at all.
He noticed that Abby wasn’t moving aside to let him enter. Behind her, the office was in semidarkness.
“I’m early,” he told her.
That was probably meant to be another crack about her arriving late this morning, Abby figured. The smile she forced to her lips was as fake as the Monopoly money she used to play with as a child. “I’m sorry but I’m fresh out of roses to pin on you.”
So it was going to be like that, was it? “I’m not interested in roses, Doctor, I’m interested in your support.”
“So I gather.” Abby leaned against the door she was holding ajar. “Listen, Mr. McDermott—” She paused a second, pressing her lips together. There was a pithy way to phrase this, but for the life of her, she couldn’t summon the energy to think of it. She just wanted him to go away. “I know I said that I would see you after hours, but I’m afraid something’s come up.”
Kyle hadn’t gotten where he was in life by allowing himself to be summarily brushed aside. “What?”
His question took Abby by surprise. Someone else would have told him it was none of his business, or hidden behind the convenient excuse that there was a baby on the way and she had to rush off to deliver it.
But Abby didn’t like evasion and she liked lying even less. Living by the “do unto others” edict that had been so firmly impressed upon her as a child, she had no option but to tell him the truth.
She didn’t have to be friendly about it, though.
“If you must know, I’ve been called to the house for a family meeting.”
“You hold meetings?” He didn’t know all that much about the Maitlands, only what he read in passing, and by reputation. He wondered if they were all cold, passionless people who were emotionally distant from one another. It would seem logical that they would be, if family get-togethers were referred to as “meetings.”
Though normally easygoing, Abby felt herself taking offense at the tone he used. What right did he have to question her or her family? “We do when there are babies dropped on our doorstep and fingers pointed at us.”
Kyle stared at her. “You lost me.” He’d had no opportunity to listen to the radio on his way over; he’d been dictating a letter. He had no idea what she meant.
“No, but I’m trying to.” With a toss of her head, she turned on her heel. Walking back to her office, she shed her lab coat as she went.
Kyle followed. She wasn’t wearing the suit jacket he’d seen her in earlier, he thought. And she’d done something to her hair. Let it down. It made her look younger. Softer.
He couldn’t help noticing, when she swung around again to face him, that the beige turtleneck sweater she had on clung very appealingly to her breasts. Especially as she drew in a deep breath. He realized that he was staring and raised his eyes to her face again.
She should have just politely shut the door on him, Abby thought. She wasn’t any good at excuses. “I know that this must seem like I’m trying to brush you off—”
“Good call.”
Kyle knew she was going to try to make it a done deal if he didn’t say something to stop her. He needed this woman backing him up if he was going to have a prayer of convincing Marcie to be sensible. It wasn’t hard to see that his sister thought the world of Abby Maitland. The woman was the first role model Marcie had turned to since…he couldn’t remember when.
Sensing that she was a person who could be appealed to on an emotional level, he went that way. “Look, Doctor, it might not seem like it to you, but I really love my sister and I only want what’s best for her.”
Given her track record as far as men went, Abby knew that she wasn’t always the best judge of character when it came to the opposite sex. But she believed he was sincere. Or at the very least, that he believed himself to be sincere. He’d proven that by making time in the “busy schedule” Marcie had complained to her about. And there was the matter of the birthing classes. Marcie had signed her brother up as her partner. It spoke to Abby of a strong bond, no matter what words might be flying around to the contrary.
That all counted for something.
Tossing her lab coat over the back of her chair, she reached for her jacket and proceeded to put it on. “Yes, I believe that you do.” The right sleeve was giving her trouble as she tried to push her arm through. Par for the course today, she thought. “But I really do have to be at my mother’s…”
Her voice trailed off as she felt a pair of strong, masculine hands easing the jacket onto her shoulders. She hadn’t even realized that he’d moved behind her. Something akin to a misty premonition zigzagged through her before vanishing. She hadn’t a clue what that was all about, and had less than no time to ponder it.
Turning around, Abby found herself a hairbreadth away from him. Surprised, she felt a spike of adrenaline shoot through her. The pounding in her head increased, and she winced involuntarily.
He saw the pain in her a second before she winced. “What’s the matter?”
“Tension headache.” A vague shrug accompanied the confession she knew she should have kept to herself. She wasn’t a complainer by nature. Not even when her heart was hurt. No one in the family had any idea just how deeply she’d been wounded by Drew Brandon’s duplicity. It was something that, for the most part, she kept to herself. Only a couple of her friends even came close to suspecting the extent of the damage Drew and his womanizing had done.
The familiar term evoked a half smile. Kyle nodded in mute sympathy. “Had more than my share of tension headaches. Sit down.”
Where did he get off ordering her around? Abby raised her chin. “I don’t have—”
He was beginning to see what it was about Abby Maitland that Marcie related to so well. They both appeared to be stubborn as hell. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he gently but firmly pushed her down into the chair. She glared up at him with eyes that were accusing and wary at the same time.
Did she think she had something to fear from him? The thought surprised him. He could handle himself in any given situation, physical or otherwise, but it had never occurred to him to use anything but his powers of persuasion when it came to women.
Kyle purposely made his voice calm and reasonable. “As you pointed out, we’re all running behind from the moment we’re born. A couple more minutes won’t put you much further in the red.” So saying, he turned her chair around so that her back was to him.
He noted that she perched more than sat—probably debating whether to bolt, he decided.
This served her right for agreeing to see him after hours, Abby thought, annoyed at her carelessness. As the daughter of wealthy parents, she knew all the precautions she was supposed to take. But she often thought of them as imprisoning her rather than keeping her safe, and she tended to be lax, preferring to think of everyone as nonthreatening.
She wasn’t all that sure about Marcie’s older brother, however. Nonthreatening wasn’t a word she would have equated with Kyle McDermott.
She felt his hands on her shoulders again, just shy of her neck. Strong, powerful hands. Hands that could easily do damage, given cause. Stiffening, she tried to rise. “I really don’t—”
The last words of the sentence failed to emerge as a shock wave shot through the top of her head in response to the pressure he was applying to the knotted muscles of her shoulders. A slight gasp escaped before she could stop it.
A whisper of guilt slipped through Kyle at the sound. He wasn’t trying to hurt her. “It’ll probably feel worse before it starts to feel better,” he warned, working his fingers farther into the rigid area.
“Too late.” She tried to brace herself and found that she couldn’t. All she could do was hold on and hope she didn’t make a fool of herself. “I think you just took off the top of my skull.”
Abby felt his hard torso against her back as he leaned forward, inspecting the area in question. She could have sworn she felt his breath move along the suddenly sensitized flesh beneath her hair.
“Nope, it’s still there.”
“Good,” she said, exhaling slowly. Why was her pulse suddenly racing? Her brother Mitchell had warned her about pacing herself and working too hard. She should have listened to him. She was paying the price for that now.
“I’ve gotten very attached to it,” Abby heard herself say.
Like thick molasses, relief moved slowly along the shoulders he was kneading up to her neck, then made its way by micro-steps to her temples. Stunned, surprised and feeling strangely light-headed, Abby took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly.
“Better?”
The question seemed to drift to her out of nowhere, parting a haze as it came. “Yes. A little.” With effort, she forced herself to turn the chair to face him, though the magic the man performed was seductive.
As was the feel of his hands on her shoulders.
Abby raised her eyes to his, trying not to cling to the sensation he’d created. “And that’s all I’m going to have time for.”
Kyle had no idea why a smile was forming within him. He’d come here to make his arguments, to win her over to his way of thinking. Humor had no place in this; the issue was too important. And yet here he was, smiling at her for expressing the same sentiments that drove him.
“Afraid they’ll start the meeting without you?” He echoed the question that Marcie had accusingly put to him earlier, momentarily seeing her side of it.
Abby found that she had to grip the armrests to get herself up. She felt like warm liquid seeking a vessel to rest in. But at least the tension headache was miraculously gone. Her eyes held his, and despite herself she was fascinated by the half smile.
“Someone pointed out to me today that it’s disrespectful to be late.”
She was tossing his words back at him. Odd that he didn’t mind. Kyle inclined his head. “You’re a quick study.”
“Whenever possible.” On her feet again, telling herself that the wobbly feeling in her thighs was a result of not finishing the single sandwich she’d allowed herself for lunch, Abby hesitated as she studied Kyle’s expression. Damn it, but she truly did believe he was sincere. “If this is really that important to you, you’re welcome to follow me to the house and wait in the library until I’m free. With luck, it won’t take too long.”
Tacitly, Kyle accepted the invitation, knowing it was not a choice. “I get the feeling that there’s no other way to see you except on your terms.”
He made it sound as if she were drafting a treaty. “I don’t have terms, Mr. McDermott. I just have a very busy life.” She pulled open the bottom drawer. “Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it.”
Abby raised her eyes until they met his. He surprised her. She hadn’t really thought that he would agree; it was just an offer she felt compelled to make because he had vanquished her tension headache. And because he’d looked, for just a moment, like a determined white knight.
She was far too easygoing for her own good, she chided herself. But now that she’d made the offer, she knew she couldn’t very well rescind it. That wouldn’t be playing fair.
With a sigh, she pulled her purse out of the drawer and let the drawer slide back into place. “All right, the address is—”
That she felt she had to actually give it to him amused Kyle. “Everyone knows where Maitland Mansion is.” What went unsaid was that, as a teenager, he used to drive by the estate in his second-hand car whenever the opportunity presented itself, vowing that someday he’d have a mansion just like it. And a life just like the Maitlands’. A life that commanded respect.
“All right, then.” Resigned, she led the way out. “Let’s go.”
SHE DROVE TOO FAST, Kyle thought, following Abby’s bright red Jaguar up the winding hill that led to her family’s estate. He wondered if her speed was a natural outpouring of residual energy, or if she just had an incredibly heavy foot.
Or maybe she was trying to lose him.
In any case, a doctor should have known better than to drive like that. She didn’t weave in and out of traffic, but that was only because there was no other traffic.
He decided that being in a hurry was a natural part of Abby Maitland’s makeup.
The Maitland estate was located a mere ten blocks from the clinic, but upon driving into the compound, housed behind tall, imposing electronic black gates, Kyle felt as if they had entered another world. In the distance, the stately white house rose up in front of him. Four sprawling floors reaching up to the sky beneath a light clay-tiled roof that seemed more reminiscent of an old English castle than a Texas mansion.
There was a guest cottage on the premises, barely visible off to the side. Hidden from view were the tennis court and the pool that Kyle knew were located at the rear of the property. The tennis court alone was larger than the lot on which his boyhood home had stood.
The rich sure knew how to live, he thought. It was a talent he was still trying to acquire. But work kept getting in the way. Another skill he had yet to acquire, he knew, was the ability to delegate. But he couldn’t overcome the nagging fear that if he wasn’t involved in all phases of operation, everything would break down and come to a grinding halt. Being on the leading edge of communications technology meant never slowing your pace.
It looked as if Abby hadn’t been blowing him off about the “meeting,” after all, Kyle thought as they approached the mansion. There was a squadron of cars parked in the circular gray-and-white paved driveway. He quickly surveyed the various makes and models. They would make an automobile aficionado drool.
It was difficult not to feel out of place, even behind the wheel of a Mercedes. He supposed that was because no matter what the numbers on the ledgers said, deep down he was still that scrawny, awkward kid in his cousin’s hand-me-downs.
Kyle was beginning to have doubts that he would ever be entirely free of that image.
But for now, he pushed that negative thought aside, just as he had countless other times during the early years of his business when all his efforts looked as if they might blow up in his face. It had taken fierce determination for him to believe in himself, but it had paid off.
He was as good as any of these people, Kyle told himself. He just had to hold on to that thought.
After pulling up beside Abby’s car, Kyle turned off the engine and got out quickly. Abby was already ahead of him, waiting on the bottom of the steps that led up to the massive front door. Kyle lengthened his stride, sensing she would only wait a moment. “You drive too fast.”
The blunt observation surprised Abby. People who wanted to win you over to their side didn’t start out by admonishing you. It seemed the man was full of contradictions. He was also undoubtedly accustomed to getting his way, if not through sheer force of will, then by his looks. She found herself wondering if any woman had ever said no to him—and meant it.