Deception (24 page)

“Want to come, Connor?” Danny asked. “Not this time.”

“Connor has to work,” Renata reminded him. “Let’s go change clothes.”

They were gone like a shot, running toward the front of the house even though Willene constantly fussed at them about dashing around the many antiques and breakables.

Connor walked up the hallway and picked up her parcels. She still had to go to the barn and hide Clay’s saddle somewhere. A bit of the pleasure was gone from the gift. She’d looked forward to giving it to him Christmas morning and telling him that Apollo was finally ready for the trail. Now that scene would never take place. Clay wouldn’t be around for Christmas. And neither would the kids.

Connor was tucking the last of her Christmas presents in the back of her big closet when she heard Renata’s squeal of pleasure through the open window. Pushing aside the soft coral draperies, Connor revealed a sweeping view of the pecan orchard and the barn, but she could also see part of the driveway and the front—enough to note the red Mercedes convertible that pulled up and stopped and the tall, sophisticated woman who got out. Midgie wore slacks and a tweed jacket, perfect for a day in the country.

Forcing herself away from the window, Connor thought again of Christmas. Had Clay even considered her feelings? The sense of betrayal ate at her until she mentally pushed it away. It was possible that “Christmas in the Capital” wasn’t Clay’s decision to make. As a political candidate, he had to attend a lot of functions he wasn’t exactly thrilled about. This trip could be one of them. His delay in telling her might be a reflection of his own disappointment.

“The only way to be certain is to ask him,” she said out loud.

For the moment, the best thing to do was go down to the kitchen and cadge a cup of hot chocolate off Willene. Clay was coming out for dinner, and she’d have ample opportunity to ask him about Christmas and Washington.

She half-trotted down the stairs, swinging wide to make the corner to the kitchen door. She entered to the smell of homemade chicken soup.

“If I was sick, that soup would cure me,” she said to Willene. “What’s in it?”

“A touch of ginger and garlic.” Willene smiled. “Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”

“Can I wheedle a cup of cocoa?”

“I believe so.” Willene’s face wrinkled inward. “There’s something I want to talk to you about, Connor. It’s your personal business, but I have to have my say.”

Connor felt her heart beat faster. So, the word was out at Oaklawn that she and Clay were having an affair. If Jeff knew, it was only logical that so did Sally and Willene. It was pointless to deny it.

“My personal business is a lot like my past—mine,” Connor said carefully. “I’m not too inclined to let anyone stomp about in it.”

“I’m worried about you, child.” Willene touched Connor’s shoulder. “I’m not certain you understand what you’re getting into here. Things aren’t always what they seem. On the surface, Oaklawn has a pretty image, but look deeper into the mirror and what you see reflected isn’t so nice.”

Instead of reacting angrily, Connor took a seat at the table. The sigh she gave was heartfelt. Renata’s little bombshell about Washington had shaken her faith in the future. Maybe it wasn’t possible for her to fit in with the life Clay wanted.

Willene put the milk to heat in the heavy saucepan she preferred for all her cocoa-making and shuffled through the cabinets for the chocolate.

“Let me tell you a little about the Sumner family,” she said, as she took out boxes of confectioner’s sugar, rice, and cereal. “Clay is as much a victim of his family as Harlan. Only difference is that Clay didn’t become a bully and Harlan did. Both those boys were pressured from the day they were born.”

Connor listened, eager to learn about Clay’s childhood. He sometimes talked about himself, recalling escapades and adventures from his youth. His happiest days were spent as a preteen at Oaklawn—before family expectations were crystalized and his days crafted and designed to achieve the goal his parents had established.

She knew little about his teenage years or the early days of his marriage to Talla. Those were times Clay never brought up voluntarily, so Connor hadn’t pressed him.

“When Clay was sixteen, he got a local girl pregnant,” Willene looked over her shoulder, hands still on the cabinet door. When she caught Connor’s eye, she nodded. “This isn’t something you’ll want to bandy about with him. The truth is, I’m not certain Clay ever knew she actually was pregnant. It’s very possible his parents made him believe she was lying to trap him. Anyway, I well remember the day he came home and told his folks what he’d done and that he intended to marry the girl. All hell broke loose.”

“He was too young to marry,” Connor said. “Sixteen.” She spoke with awe. “How old was the girl?”

“Eighteen, and that’s what finally saved his young butt—that, and the fact that the girl disappeared. Folks believed the Sumners gave her a big hunk of money and she split.” Willene walked to the table and looked Connor dead in the eye. “There are those who believe the Sumners had the girl killed and the body disposed of in a way that meant no one would ever find her.”

Connor felt Willene’s gaze bore into her. “That’s a little melodramatic, even from a family with tremendous power and great ambitions for their children. I mean, at sixteen, he didn’t have to marry her. And the Sumners could well afford a bit of child support.” Even the suggestion of such a thing made Connor’s stomach flutter.

“It wasn’t the money. It’s never been the money with the Sumners. It’s the name, Connor, and that’s what you’d better understand. Clay was always different, always more considerate and less caught up in the facades that his parents loved so dearly. But he
is
a Sumner. That you can never forget.”

“You honestly believe Clay’s parents had a young girl killed because she got pregnant?” Willene’s stories were always fraught with drama, but this was stretching matters.

Willene stirred the milk and thought for a moment. “I don’t know what I believe. I can only tell you what I heard.”

“What?” Connor drew her chair closer to the table so she could rest her elbows. Willene poured the hot chocolate into a thick mug and set it in front of Connor and then took a seat at the table herself.

“I was here in the kitchen, making a pot of beef stew. It was a cold, raw day. The wind had been whippin’ around the house, and I was watching through the orchard for Clay. He and his dad had had a terrible row, and he’d stormed out of the house. About the girl, I think. Clay insisted he was going to marry her. She was from one of those Baptist families, and they were treating her like she’d crawled between the sheets with Satan. Clay had told his dad how they’d made the girl stand up in front of the congregation and confess that she’s slept with a boy younger than her. They said she’d not only sinned with her own flesh, but that she’d committed a more terrible sin by luring an innocent boy into the act of fornication with her. Clay was right upset when he told his dad that he intended to make an honest woman of her, that he cared for her a grat deal, even if he didn’t love her.”

“So far, Clay doesn’t sound like such a villain.” Connor tried to keep the raw hope out of her voice.

“He tore out of the room when his father said he’d make no gallant gestures at the expense of the family. As soon as Clay was gone, old man Sumner picked up the telephone and called Dougie, one of his hired hands, downtown.”

Willene’s hands were shaking as she leaned on her elbows. She clasped her hands together and transferred them to her lap. “I’ve never told anyone this before,” she said, her voice suddenly shaky, too. “Maybe it’s wrong that I continue. It’s all over and done. Clay’s dad is dead in his grave and unable to defend himself.”

“Don’t stop now,” Connor said. “It would be more cruel to leave me hanging, imagining all sorts of things. What did he tell Dougie?”

“I heard him clear. I needed to ask Mr. Sumner what wine he wanted with the stew, so I’d gone to the library. I was standing at the door, and I started to leave without going in, but I was upset. I had it half in my mind to plead on Clay’s behalf to let the boy become a man and take on his responsibilities. That’s what money does, it teaches youngsters to shirk their responsibilities, ‘cause they think they can pay someone else to do their dirty work. And that’s what Mr. Sumner did. He was talking into the telephone and he said, ‘That girl I told you about before. She’s become a real problem. Take care of her, Dougie. Like we discussed.’ “

Willene paused. She lifted her glasses and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“That could mean almost anything. They could have paid her off, or gotten an abortion for her,” Connor said. She felt a dim sense of relief. The story wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it was going to be. Clay had tried to act like a man of integrity, even if he’d been a boy thwarted by his father.

“It could, except that night the girl disappeared. She left home without a change of clothes or her purse or anything. She just disappeared.”

“What did the police say?”

Willene snorted. “What do you think? The Sumners didn’t lack for influence in the sheriff’s office. The report listed her as a runaway. That was it. They never even really hunted for her.”

“And what did Clay do?” Connor watched the older woman’s face. Willene was terribly upset. Distraught, about an incident that had happened twenty years before.

“He hunted for her, going to the places she used to like. He went to her parents. They weren’t especially glad to see him. Told him he was the cause of her disappearing. They said that both of them deserved to suffer for what they’d done.” Willene snorted again. “Little did they know how much their daughter was going to suffer.”

“And the girl was never found?” That kind of thing happened a lot. If a girl really wanted to disappear, she could. There was every chance she’d had her baby and given it up for adoption and was living a happy life somewhere. Or perhaps she’d kept the child. It was possible that Clay’s son or daughter, old enough for college, was running around the country somewhere.

“Never a trace. She didn’t even take her purse. Not a driver’s license. Not a tube of lipstick. Never a single call to her family. Just dropped off the face of the earth.”

“And you think Mr. Sumner played a role in her disappearance?” Connor questioned gently.

“I think Mr. Sumner had that girl killed.”

Connor swallowed her mouthful of cocoa with difficulty. Sitting across the table from her, Willene had just accused Clay’s father of murder—cold-blooded, deliberate murder of a young girl.

“That’s what I want to tell you. In this family, the Sumner name has always been more important than any person. Than any outsider. You’re playing with fire, Connor. Getting involved with Clay is asking for trouble. You know his ambitions.”

Connor had frozen with the mug halfway to her lips. She stared at Willene, hearing everything she said and trying to sort out what was real and what was blown out of proportion.

“Clay intends to become a United States Senator. I know that,” she said carefully. “I’d never want to interfere with Clay’s future, or his happiness. I’m worldly enough not to get pregnant, if that’s what you’re driving at.” There was no point denying her relationship with Clay. “I’m not a teenager, Willene. I look out for myself, and I take responsibility for my own actions. Clay isn’t sixteen anymore. He doesn’t have a father who’ll jump into the middle of his business. We’re both adults.”

“That’s all well and fine, Connor. But you’re overlooking one small thing: Clay may not intend to hurt you. He certainly didn’t intend to ruin that young girl. Not in a million years. But when a woman steps in front of a man and his goals, she’ll likely find herself knocked flat, like a dog in front of a train.”

“Do you really believe Clay is so callous?” Connor couldn’t accept that. Not Clay, who was so considerate of his staff, who was so generous to everyone who worked for him.

“The Sumner family is cursed. Cursed by greed and power and ambition,” Willene said, rising from the table. “You’re a beautiful woman, Connor. Smart, too. Don’t break your heart or lose your head here, girl. You can’t undo the past, and neither can Clay. That’s the damnable thing about it. It’s the bloody Sumner name that will wind up ruining the lot of you.” She pushed her chair hard into the table and hurried out of the room toward her quarters.

Sitting at the table, Connor could only stare after her with concern.

The fire crackled cheerfully, orange fingers teasing the chill night. Connor took the package from Clay’s hands. The box was light, the beautiful gift paper scented, and the ribbon an elaborate work of art.

“What’s the occasion?” Connor asked. Clay had a knack for surprising her with gifts. A pair of warm gloves. Some funky socks. Little happy gifts that showed that at some time during the day he’d thought of her.

“I made a special trip to Bayshore Boutique to get this for you. You can say I was inspired by our time in the courtyard. I spent some time thinking about the perfect … color.” He laughed. “Something to match those incredible eyes,” his finger traced a light path inside the collar of her shirt, “that beautiful, soft skin.”

Connor lowered her head to his shoulder and sighed. She was already on fire. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, she’d think about Clay and feel a throb of need. Tonight was no different. Clay had put the children to bed and come to her room. With expert ease he’d built a fire and maneuvered her onto the sofa and into his arms. Connor opened her eyes and found their reflection in the large mirror above the fireplace. Candles glowed softly on both end tables near the plush sofa. Firelight gleamed and danced in her long and disheveled hair. Clay’s eyes watched her, hungry, his lips touched by an expectant smile. Connor wore a long silk robe, another gift from Clay. The split in the robe revealed her bare leg. Stretched out on the peach Queen Anne sofa, she held the latest gift across her lap. Clay’s hand eased inside her robe, teasing its way to her breast. In another moment she would lift her face for his kiss, and all thoughts of talk, all doubts about the future would be swept away in the tide of their passion.