Deception (11 page)

“How do you know this?” Connor asked, amazed. It was as if Willene was privy to her family history.

“Folks around here know a lot more than you think,” she said, dropping her gaze to examine her cocoa. “Want another cup? Maybe we could put a little of Mr. Clay’s special brandy in it.”

“Sure,” Connor agreed. The mention of Clay’s name gave her a strange but pleasant sensation of tension. She’d been at Oaklawn nearly four weeks. The calendar page had flipped to October and she was pleased with the progress she’d made, especially with Danny. Each child had their own mount, and Danny was showing a flair for horsemanship. As Willene had noted, the purchase of a little Connemara mare for Renata had been a breakthrough. The child seemed to love the pony with a true devotion.

Willene put another pan of milk on to heat and disappeared into the library. She returned with a crystal decanter and put it on the table. “If this story gets going good, we might have to give up on the cocoa and get down to serious business.” She looked Connor straight in the eye. “Mr. Clay wouldn’t mind a bit. He’s a generous man, you know.”

“I do know that,” Connor said. Since the day in the pecan orchard when he’d held her to the letter of her contract, Clay Sumner had been generous beyond all expectations. He’d told her if she found some stock she wanted for herself, he’d advance her the money. He’d given her carte blanche to buy whatever she wanted for the children, “cost be damned.” Whenever he was at Oaklawn, he sought her out for long talks. Long looks, too. He had the most generous mouth, a full, sensual lower lip, and an upper one that quirked slightly. There were times when she found herself wanting to kiss him, to see if the passion she saw in his eyes was real, or just something she imagined.

She looked up to see Willene staring at her.

“Who did Hilla marry after she left Lucedale?” Willene asked.

“My great-great-grandfather was a traveling salesman, I believe. A wild Irishman known for his humor and pranks.” Connor pushed Clay Sumner from her mind. She focused on the story at hand.

“She was happy, then?”

Connor smiled. It was as if they were talking about a mutual acquaintance, not someone who’d been dead nearly a hundred years. “From all accounts. They traveled, and I suppose that’s my family heritage. My mother used to tease us all, saying that Hilla had cursed the family with the wanderlust. My mother married my dad, even knowing he’d move from track to track for his entire life. She said she wanted nothing more than a white cottage with a picket fence and primrose bushes, and yet she settled for a car packed and loaded with all our belongings, a series of dirty horse tracks, and a man who continually grabbed at a dream.”

“She must have been more like Hilla than even she knew,” Willene said softly. A note of sadness edged with bitterness crept into her voice. “That’s the lot of women. They give themselves to a man and he goes on to do his dreams and his wants and she’s left to make the best of the pieces left behind.”

“I think my mother was happy,” Connor said gently. “She wouldn’t have loved my dad if he’d been a banker or an accountant or someone in a stuffed suit.”

Willene nodded, but her-eyes remained hard. “And what were you told of the outlaw James Dickerson?”

“That’s my favorite part of the story,” Connor said. “Hilla met him one day when she was walking to the store for some white sugar to make a cake for her father. She was only fifteen, but that was grown-up in those days. She was singing to herself, and when she rounded a curve, he was there, hiding in the shadows. Mama said he was probably planning on robbing the next poor traveler who came down the road, but it was only Hilla, an auburn-haired girl with a thick accent that didn’t conceal her razor-sharp tongue.”

Willene poured the steaming cocoa into the empty cups and added a solid shot of brandy to each one. She resumed her seat, elbows on the white linen tablecloth, and nodded that she was ready to listen.

“It was love at first sight, at least on the outlaw’s part. Hilla was a wild and independent girl, and she led him a merry chase, from all we’ve been told. He courted her with all the proper trimmings. It was even said that he was related to a wealthy family over here in Mobile, sort of the black sheep. One version of the story was that he was the head of this big, powerful family and that he wore a disguise when he became the outlaw.”

“And were there ever any tales about who that family was?” Willene asked. She leaned forward in her chair.

“None.” Connor hesitated. “Well, if there was, I’ve forgotten. My mother’s been dead nearly ten years. I don’t remember all the parts of the story, I’m afraid.”

“What happened between Hilla and the outlaw?”

“Well, once her family found out he was a wanted man, they tried to break up the romance. James gave Hilla a horse, a beautiful bay mare, so that she could ride to meet him on secret rendezvous out in the woods. She kept the horse stabled in an abandoned barn, and the creature was swift as the wind. There were stories about her riding through violent storms in the dead of night, and how the mare always seemed to know how best to find James.”

“And what happened?”

“Once her family realized they couldn’t break up the romance, they decided to move away. Their only daughter was more important than anything else, and they were afraid if they stayed in Lucedale Hilla would lose her honor to the outlaw and be doomed to live a life of misery and ostracism.”

“So they left?”

“Moved to Tennessee, first, and that’s where Hilla met great-great-grandfather Tommy O’Neal. And that was the beginning of the family that eventually produced me.” Connor ended on a shrug. “It’s a great romance, isn’t it?”

“The way you tell it, yes, it is.” Willene stood up from the table and turned to the sink. “Just keep in mind that your great-great-granny was smart enough to get out of this area. She didn’t let a man ruin her. That’s a lesson all women have to learn.”

Connor looked up at Willene’s back. Had the cook somehow sensed her own desire for Clay Sumner? Was this a subtle warning? Connor was certain that she’d shown no overt attraction for Clay. In general, Willene didn’t seem to view men as reliable or trustworthy. It was more than likely one of her blanket statements about the male animal. She decided to ignore it.

“Well, can you help me get started finding the records for the Lassfolk family?” Connor asked, taking the last sip of her doctored cocoa.

“There should be records in the county courthouse in Lucedale.” The cook’s voice was suddenly distant, uninterested.

Connor swallowed back her surprise. Had she said something to offend Willene? “I thought you knew the legends. I was hoping you might be able to save me some of that tedious work digging around in old records.”

“Most of what I know is gossip, about as good as the story you just told me.” She turned off the tap and swung around to face Connor. “There’s even tales that Hilla Lassfolk and James Dickerson walk these woods, hunting for the people who did them dirty. Looking into the past can turn up some surprises.”

“I gather you know about some of them,” Connor said. “Care to tell me?”

“It’s late.” Willene pointed to the kitchen clock that showed nearly eleven. “The children will be here at daybreak tomorrow. You’ve done wonders with Renata and that pony. I don’t think I’ve seen the child this light-hearted since her mother died.”

“She’s coming along,” Connor said slowly. “If I could just get her to walk into the barn.”

“Don’t push it. Time is on your side. You’re helping the child put the past to rest. Sometimes it’s a slow, slow process.” Willene folded the dishcloth. “Now, let me put a little of that brandy in a snifter for you, and you hustle off to bed.”

She left the kitchen before Connor could steer the conversation back to Hilla Lassfolk and her outlaw love.

The smell of the feed was comforting, a light odor of molasses and grains. The October morning was brisk with a clarity of light that Connor had grown to love. She grabbed a handful of the sweet feed mixture and closed her hand into a fist. Although the feed molded to the shape of her hand, it didn’t hold together. The grains drifted between her fingers and back into the feed bin. Good, the molasses content wasn’t too thick.

She felt someone watching her before she even turned around. She’d come to expect his sudden appearances, even to look forward to them. She couldn’t deny that she felt a certain breathlessness whenever she knew that Clay Sumner was in the vicinity. It was a light-headed, disconcerting sensation, and one that she thoroughly enjoyed.

“Good morning, Mr. Sumner,” she said, without turning around. She could feel him watching, his gaze moving over her legs and thighs and hips as she straightened her back and lifted her upper body out of the feed bin. She turned to face him. He’d caught her in a posture that was awkward, and titillating, if the look in his eyes was any indication of what was on his mind.

“The children are bothering Willene for French toast. I thought perhaps you’d like to go for a ride. That is, if you don’t mind if I take one of your horses … and if you’ll call me Clay.”

She hesitated. “Only if you call me Connor.”

“Agreed,” he said, smiling slowly. “Need some help?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been so busy with the children, I’m afraid I haven’t put much effort into finding the two horses you wanted for yourself. You’re welcome to ride either of mine.” She took the one step down from the feed bin and walked toward him.

The light in the barn was better in the morning than at any other time of day. There was a softness that touched his face, easing the lines around his eyes and mouth. She studied him a moment. There was determination in his jaw, a calculating look in his blue eyes. The thought that he was perhaps the most determined man she’d ever met crossed her mind. If he turned that determination on a woman … Connor shut the thought off as she felt a tremor move through her body. What in the world was she thinking about?

“Grab a halter and we’ll tack up. Is there anywhere special you’d like to ride?” She walked with him across the hallway to the tackroom. Her saddles, well-used and polished, were side-by-side on the racks. Bridles, oiled and cleaned, were beside them.

“As a matter of fact, there is. There’s a spring down toward the southern boundary. When I was a boy, I liked to go there and daydream.”

“About being elected to high office?” Connor couldn’t help teasing him. Clay was confident, and he appeared to enjoy the light banter that had grown between them.

“No.”

He cut his gaze to hers and for a moment they held. Connor broke away first. The look he gave was dangerous.

“I dreamed about Sarah Jane Macon, a ten-year-old bane.”

His answer was not the image Connor had thought she’d seen in his eyes.

“A childhood sweetheart?” She kept it light, wondering if she was misreading Clay. His looks said one thing, his words another.

“Sarah Jane was a sweetheart, of sorts.” He grinned, a wicked, devil-may-care smile. “She made all A-pluses, even in math. She was smarter than me, and I used to think up ways to get ahead of her.”

Connor laughed out loud as she handed him Cleo’s halter. “I’d hate to be your opponent. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as competitive as you.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Clay said, still chuckling. “A few years later I was thinking of other things I’d like to do with Sarah Jane. Once she took her glasses off and put some stockings on, my focus shifted.”

They were both laughing as they brought the horses out of their stalls. When they were saddled, they mounted and walked side-by-side through the orchard.

“Look!” Connor called, waving her hand toward the house. “There’s Renata!”

“Where?” Clay put his hand to his head to shade his eyes from the sun.

“The third-floor window.” Connor waved again, but the child didn’t respond.

“I don’t see anything.”

Connor squinted against the glare of the sun. The window was empty. “I could have sworn it was Renata.” She shrugged. “I thought it would be good for her to see her father mounted. She worships you, you know.”

“Hardly worships,” Clay said. “She needs a lot of attention, and I fear I’ve neglected them both, until recently. It troubles me that the campaign is going to heat up very soon. My law practice has been busy enough; it’s going to get tough. I’m going to be away a lot.”

“The children are doing better than I ever expected. Danny is a natural horseman.” Connor took in Clay’s seat, his posture and ease on the horse. “I’d say he comes by it honestly. And Renata has made more progress than I ever thought possible.”

“The barn?”

“No, but she goes down to the paddock and spends hours grooming Erin. It won’t be long before she breaks through her fear.”

“You’ve done a remarkable job.” Clay reined his horse to a stop. They were beyond the pecan orchard, hidden from sight of the house by the dense foliage of the woods. “You’re an amazing woman, Connor. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d left.”

“You’d have ruined my reputation, but you wouldn’t have blamed me?”

“I said that because I knew you had to stay. I knew you were the one to work with Renata and I had to make you stay long enough to try. But if you’d chosen to leave, I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

“So it was a bluff.” She patted Tinker’s neck, too aware of Clay’s gaze. There was passion in his eyes, a compelling sensuality that she responded to, even against her better judgment. “Things have gone pretty well so far, Clay, but there aren’t any guarantees.” She looked up and saw his lips quirk.

“I hear those children laughing at night, talking about the adventures they’ll have the next day, or what Erin and Danny’s pony did that was smarter than any other ponies.” He reached across and touched Connor’s chin, lifting her gaze to his. “And you’re responsible. Thank you.”

“Clay, I …” His hand was so warm. His fingers slipped beneath her chin, stroking her jaw as he withdrew his hand.

“Before you came, Renata would spend hours alone in the library, reading. At night, she sat by the window, staring out into the darkness. When I called her name, sometimes she didn’t hear me until I shook her. I don’t know what the doctors would call it, because they never could come up with a name. I call it deep depression. When Talla died, Renata felt her entire world had ended. Now she has a new world. She’s learned that she can never replace her mother, but there are other things to love and do.” Clay reached across the distance of the horses once again, this time finding her hand. “And she has you, Connor.”