Always a McBride (18 page)

Five minutes later, when she knocked at his door, he was ready for her. When he opened the door, he felt his heart stop in his chest. He'd seen her in dozens of different situations: lying on a sleeping bag under the stars in the mountains, baking in the kitchen, her cheeks dusted with flour, and then there was that night she had stepped into the hall still damp from her bath and dressed for bed. She'd stolen his breath every time. That didn't begin to describe what she did to him today.

Dressed in a cream-colored antique satin gown, her blond hair falling in a golden wave past her shoulders, she looked as if she'd just stepped out of a dream from the past. Every beautiful inch of her was covered. The
full sleeves of her gown were gathered at her slender wrists, spilling lace onto her hands, and the long skirt just brushed her bare toes. The bodice was made of lace, but here, too, every sweet inch of her was covered, all the way to her throat.

She looked incredibly beautiful, incredibly feminine, incredibly sexy. Taylor took one look at her and forgot his own name. “My God, you're gorgeous!”

A shy smile curled the corners of her mouth. “Thank you. I thought you might appreciate it.”

“Sweetheart, that's an understatement,” he said hoarsely, and reached for her.

She melted into his arms and only then noticed the changes he had made to the room. “Oh, Taylor! It's beautiful!”

He grinned ruefully. “I sort of raided your supply closet. I hope you don't mind.”

“Mind?” she said incredulously. “No one's ever done anything like this for me before.” Glancing past him again, tears pooled in her eyes at the sight of the dozens of candles that cast a soft romantic glow over the room in spite of the fact that the late-morning sun streamed through the windows. “It's beautiful,” she said again, this time in a husky whisper.

“Don't cry,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss away the tears that spilled over her lashes and trailed down her cheek. “I just wanted to make you smile.”

That
did
make her smile, and that was his undoing. Groaning, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to his bed, where he gently laid her down on the turned-back covers. “Do you know how long I've wanted to do this?” he asked as he came down beside her and once again took her into his arms. “Ever since—”

“—we made love under the stars in the mountains,” she finished for him. “I have, too.”

She made the simple admission softly, huskily, honestly and had no idea how she destroyed him. The ache inside him tightening, he leaned closer and eliminated the distance between them with a kiss. There was no more need for words.

Outside, a dog barked down the street, and on the two-lane highway that cut through town, the sudden screech of brakes drew the attention of other drivers. Phoebe never noticed. Every thought, every nerve ending, every fiber of her being was focused on Taylor and a soft whisper of a kiss that teased and seduced and went on and on and on.

Her thoughts blurring and her breath catching on a moan as his hands slid slowly over her, rubbing the satin and lace of her gown against her bare skin, she moved against him, aching for more. “Taylor…”

“Easy,” he murmured huskily, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of her neck. “There's no one here but you and me. We have all day.”

Heaven. With a few simple words, he'd offered her heaven. Ever since the moment they'd first made love, it seemed as though they'd been looking over their shoulders. On the camping trip into the mountains, the McBrides had almost always been nearby, then when they'd returned home, it was the neighbors and even the guests they'd had to worry about surprising them. But the guests were all gone, the house was quiet, and she hadn't realized just how much she'd needed to be alone with him until now.

Settling against him, she tangled her legs with his and drew him close for a slow, lingering kiss that was sweet and hot and oh, so intimate. “How's that?” she
breathed when she finally drew back far enough to give him a sultry smile. “Slow enough for you?”

“Perfect,” he assured her thickly. “Do it again.”

He didn't have to ask her a second time. Delighted by the taste of him, the feel of his lean, hard body against hers, his hands caressing her with gentle, sure strokes that were guaranteed to drive her crazy, she couldn't seem to stop kissing him. Pushing him onto his back, she rolled over onto him and trailed kisses across his freshly shaved cheek to his ear, making him shiver in pleasure.

Caught up in the pleasure of having her way with him, she would have sworn she was the one seducing him, but suddenly he was the one kissing her, teasing her with nibbling little kisses, cupping her breasts in his hands, playing with her, making her moan. And she loved it.

She loved him.

The thought slipped past her defenses, stunning her, but before she could even begin to come to terms with it, he reached for the hem of her gown and slowly drew it up her body and over her head. With a will of their own, her hands went to the buttons of his shirt and unbuttoned them with agonizing slowness.

She loved him.
The thought whispered through her head again like the soft summer breeze that whispered through the open window, and the need to tell him, to share the joy and wonder that filled her, was almost more than she could bear. But she couldn't say a word. Not yet. Not when he hadn't even hinted at his own feelings. Marshall told her he loved her after she'd confessed her own deepening feelings for him, then ruined everything by asking her to loan him money. Taylor had shown no interest in her money, thank God, but she
couldn't risk having her heart thrown back in her face a second time…not until he'd at least hinted that he felt the same way.

So she kept her love to herself, but it wasn't easy. Every time he touched her, every time he kissed her, every time he made her moan, all she could think of was that she loved him. And when he rolled her under him and tenderly eased into her, those three magical little words became a chant in her head. I love you. I love you. I love you. But all she said was his name, over and over and over again. “Taylor…Taylor… Taylor….”

 

Something was wrong. Taylor couldn't put a name to it, but he wasn't a dense man. And something had changed between him and Phoebe ever since they'd made love that morning. Oh, her response had been everything that he could have wanted, and she'd held nothing back then, or later, after lunch, when they'd made love again. But something wasn't quite right, and it was driving him crazy.

Changing a lightbulb for her in the entry hall, he stood on a ten-foot ladder and scowled at the sound of her humming in the kitchen as she cooked dinner for the two of them. She sounded happy enough, but he didn't fool himself into thinking her current mood had anything to do with him. She loved to cook and generally hummed to herself whenever she was in the kitchen. She'd stop soon enough if he joined her.

“So ask her what's wrong,” he grumbled out loud to himself. “You're never going to know if you don't ask.”

Caught up in his conversation with himself, he didn't notice that there was a visitor at the front door until
there was a perfunctory knock. An older woman pulled open the screen door and stepped inside. “Oh, hello,” she began, catching sight of him on the ladder. “I—”

Whatever she was going to say next was lost as she suddenly froze, her eyes widening as they locked with his in the shadowy afternoon light of the hall. Every ounce of blood drained from her face. “Gus!” she whispered in horror, and passed out cold.

B
ending over to check the chicken she was baking in the oven, Phoebe straightened abruptly at the sound of something falling in the front entry. Images flashed through her head of Taylor, up on the ladder, reaching for the burned-out bulb in the old-fashioned hanging brass fixture and losing his balance. With no effort whatsoever, she could see him falling ten feet to the floor below. Alarmed, her heart stopped in her breast.

“Taylor?”

Her only answer was silence, and that scared the hell out of her. Slamming the oven door, she ran toward the front of the house. “Taylor? What was that noise? Are you all right?”

Sick with fear when he still didn't answer, she burst into the entry hall, only to find Taylor down on his knees on the floor, bending over a woman who lay unconscious on the floor just inside the front door. “Oh,
my God!” she cried, horrified as she rushed forward to help. “What happened?”

“I don't know. She walked in, took one look at me and passed out.”

Dropping to her knees beside him, Phoebe reached for the unconscious woman's hand to feel for a pulse, only to gasp as she finally got a good look at her. “It's Sara McBride! I mean…Michaels. Joe and Zeke's mother,” she explained, when he looked up sharply. “I thought she was still on her honeymoon.”

Worried, she leaned over Sara and patted her gently on the cheek. “Sara? Are you okay? C'mon, wake up. Don't make me call an ambulance. Think of what that would do to Zeke and Joe and the girls. And Dr. Michaels—he'd be worried sick about you. You don't want that.”

For a moment, Phoebe thought Sara wasn't going to respond and she'd be forced to call Dr. Michaels and all four of the McBride children, but something she said must have finally gotten through to the older woman. Moaning, Sara frowned and pressed a hand to her head. When her eyes slowly fluttered open, they were dark with confusion.

“Thank God!” Phoebe breathed in relief. “Are you all right? Did you hit your head?”

Still dazed, the older woman frowned up at her in confusion. “Phoebe…what happened?”

Smiling reassuringly down at her, Phoebe took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly. “I was going to ask you the same thing. I heard a thump and ran in here to find you passed out cold on the floor. Are you hurt? Can you sit up? Maybe I should call Dr. Michaels or the kids. You're awfully pale.”

“No,” Sara said weakly, closing her eyes.
“Please…don't. There's no need to worry them. I'm fine—just a little light-headed. I shouldn't have skipped lunch. Just give me a minute and I'll be fine.”

“Maybe some hot tea would help,” Taylor suggested gruffly. “My mother used to say there was nothing like hot tea to get a person back on their feet.”

At his first words, Sara's eyes flew open and, for the first time, she noticed the man kneeling at Phoebe's side. Her heart stopped dead at the sight of him. “Oh, my God!”

“It's okay,” Phoebe assured her when she struggled to sit up. “You don't have to be embarrassed. This is Taylor Bishop. He was putting a lightbulb in the chandelier when you passed out.”

The roar of her blood loud in her ears, Sara hardly heard her. Gus. Dear God, he looked like Gus! The way he tilted his head and the cut of his angled jaw. And his eyes—they were a hard, steely brown, not Gus's laughing, kindly blue—but the shape of them was the same. She could almost see him looking out at her through this man's eyes.

“Who are you?” she cried hoarsely, shrinking back from him. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

“He's a guest here,” Phoebe answered for him. “Didn't Gran tell you she was turning the place into a bed and breakfast? Taylor's been staying here all month, doing research on a book. He's a writer. Are you all right?” Frowning at her, she started to rise to her feet. “I think I'd better call an ambulance, after all.”

“No!” Her eyes searching Taylor's face, she tried to convince herself that her imagination was just playing tricks with her mind, but there was no question that he
favored Gus. “Are you from around here?” she asked him, frowning. “Do you have family in the area?”

“Not any that claim me,” he retorted dryly. “Why?”

“You just look so familiar,” she admitted. “That's why I fainted. When I saw you up on the ladder, I thought…”

When she hesitated, Phoebe said, “What, Sara? What did you think? Whatever it was, it must have been pretty upsetting. You fainted!”

For a moment, Phoebe didn't think the older woman would be able to answer her. Tears misted her eyes, and she looked as if she was going to burst into tears any moment. Concerned, Phoebe slipped an arm around her. “Whatever it is, it can't be that bad, Sara. Just say it.”

“I thought he was Gus!” she blurted out. “The light wasn't good, and he looked just like him.”

Surprised, Phoebe glanced over at Taylor. She didn't see the resemblance, but she didn't expect to. Gus McBride had died when she was just a child, and she'd only seen a few pictures of him.

“Gus was—”

“I know who Gus was,” Taylor said gruffly when she started to explain. “I'm sure seeing me was a shock.”

Over the past few weeks, he'd tried to plan how he was going to tell the McBrides who he was, but he hadn't been able to come up with anything. Never in a million years had he thought Sara McBride would give him the perfect opening to end the lies and reveal his true identity.

“He was Sara's husband and the father of her children,” he added coolly, never taking his gaze from the woman who was, technically, his stepmother. “He was also my father.”

For a long moment, the words hung in the air, echoing like a scream. From the corner of his eye, Taylor saw Phoebe stiffen and could just imagine what she was thinking. Don't! he thought fiercely. Don't judge me until you know the full story. But he couldn't explain anything to her yet, not until he'd dealt with Sara McBride Michaels.

Even though he didn't know his father's wife, he'd had plenty of time over the course of the last few weeks to imagine what her reaction would be when she learned of his existence, and she didn't disappoint him. Pale as a ghost, she ignored the helping hands he and Phoebe held out to her and pushed quickly to her feet, her blue eyes snapping with fury. “I don't know what your problem is, sir, but you're not my late husband's son. He only had two sons—
my
sons.” Dismissing him, she turned to Phoebe. “Who is this man, Phoebe? What's he doing here? Why is he saying such outrageous things?”

“I'd like to know the answer to that myself,” Phoebe replied tightly. “All I know is what he told me—that his name is Taylor Bishop and he's a writer working on a book about the history of the local ranchers. He never mentioned anything to me about Gus or about being his son.”

“Because I knew you probably wouldn't introduce me to the McBrides if I did,” he said, defending himself. “My name really is Taylor Bishop, just as I told you it was, but I'm not a writer. I'm a lawyer from San Diego. I just found out who my father was in April, after my mother died. She left me a letter.” Taking it out of his wallet, where he had carried it since, he held it out to Sara.

For a long moment, he didn't think she was going to
take it, let alone read it. Her blue eyes dark with mistrust, she stared at the letter as if it was a snake that was going to strike her. Then, just when Taylor was sure she was going to tell him to go to hell, she snatched the letter from his hand and unfolded it with fingers that were far from steady.

Watching her as she began to read, Taylor knew every word she read. He'd memorized the letter's contents months ago.

It was obvious when Sara reached the words naming Gus as his father. She stiffened like a poker and the little bit of angry color that tinged her cheeks drained away. Stricken, she shoved the letter back into his hands and choked, “I have to go!” Whirling, she ran for the door. A split second later, she was gone.

With her leave-taking, silence fell like a cold and heavy shroud. His face carved in grim lines, Taylor couldn't have said how long he stood there, staring after her. For weeks, all he'd thought about was the satisfaction he would feel when he revealed to Sara McBride Michaels just what kind of man she'd loved and had children with. It was something she needed to know,
and he was just the person to tell her, he'd reasoned. The truth had to be told—he'd convinced himself it was the only just thing to do.

But as Sara drove off as though the hounds of hell were after her, all he could see was the pain in her eyes when he'd told her the truth. He'd hurt an old woman. The last thing he felt was satisfaction.

Beside him, Phoebe stood as still and cold as a statue, and for a moment, he didn't think she was going to say a word to him. But then her eyes met his head-on, and she only had one question for him. “Is it true?”

Cornered, he knew she wasn't going to be able to handle the truth any better than Sara had. Considering that, he should have talked his way out of trouble. It would have been the smart thing to do, and relatively painless—after all, he was a lawyer and had ample experience at slanting the truth in whatever direction he wanted. But he was tired of the lies, tired of hiding who he was. He'd known when he'd decided to come to Liberty Hill that he was going to make his share of enemies when the truth came out. He hadn't thought he'd care. He'd been wrong. Unfortunately, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it now. The deed was done—it was too late to turn back the clock. Like it or not, he'd have to live with the consequences of his lies.

His mouth hardening into a flat line, he nodded curtly. “Yes. Gus McBride was my father.”

“And you knew that when you came here?”

“Yes.”

“So you lied…to me and everyone else in town. There was never any book, no research to be done. You never gave a rat's ass about the history of the local ranchers. It was all just a lie to get close to the McBrides.”

She had him nailed. Again, he nodded curtly. “Yes.”

“You used me.”

She didn't yell and scream at him the way most women would have—that he could have handled. Instead, she looked at him with eyes full of reproach. With nothing more than that, she made him feel guilty as hell. “Phoebe, sweetheart, if you'd just let me explain—”

He took a step toward her, but that was as far as he got. Abruptly stepping back, she gave him a look that warned him not even to think about touching her. “There's nothing to explain,” she said coldly. “You kept your identity a secret because you came here to cause trouble. Congratulations. You succeeded. You just devastated an old woman who never did anything to hurt you. Are you proud of yourself?”

Stung, he growled, “Of course not!”

“Why not? You couldn't hurt your father, so you hurt his widow. Isn't that what you wanted?”

“I did what had to be done,” he said stiffly. “I'll admit I was angry when I came here. I had every right to be. While Gus McBride was living the life of a cattle baron and giving the four children who carry his name everything they wanted, he had another son who was being raised by a single mother in the projects in San Diego. My mother worked two jobs just to put a roof over our heads and food on the table when I was growing up, so don't tell me who's hurt here, Phoebe. You don't have a clue!”

Arching a brow at him, she gave him a look that made him feel like a worm. “Want to take a bet on that?”

Cursing his choice of words, he sighed in frustration. His communication skills weren't usually so poor, dammit! “I wasn't trying to hurt anyone,” he said quietly.
“I just wanted to set the record straight. After all these years, I felt it was time. These people robbed me of a relationship with my father. I had the right to confront them.”

“If all you were interested in was a confrontation, you would have been up-front about who you were from the beginning,” she retorted. “This was about revenge, Taylor, pure and simple. Why don't you just admit it and be done with it?”

Guilty that she was right, he snapped, “Okay, so I'm human! My whole reason for coming here
was
to make Gus pay for everything he put my mother through. But that changed after I got to know Zeke and Joe and the girls. I like them and I want them to know who I am—their brother. That's why I told Sara the truth. Not to hurt her, but because I want a relationship with my brothers and sisters. And she made the connection between me and Gus the second she laid eyes on me. The truth would have come out eventually. It just seemed better to do it now and get it over with.”

Her eyes searching his, Phoebe wanted to believe him, but she didn't know if she'd ever be able to take his word for anything again. Hurt, suddenly furious with him, she said, “You lied to me, you used me and now you want me to believe you? How can I? While you were kissing me and making love to me, you were planning to hurt my friends. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? I
trusted
you. And what did you do with that trust? You stomped it into the ground.”

To his credit, he didn't offer her empty excuses. “I'm not proud of what I did,” he said huskily. “All I can say is I'm sorry. You're the last person I would ever want to hurt.”

“Then why did you?”

He didn't have an answer for that, but to Phoebe, the answer was obvious. He'd never cared for her—she'd just been a means to an end. He'd needed to meet the McBrides, to find out all he could about his father's family while he plotted his revenge, and she'd made that possible. While she'd been foolishly falling in love with him, he'd just been using her.