Deception (29 page)

“That’s a good idea. Just keep that foot dry, Harlan said. The cut wasn’t deep, thank goodness.”

“If there wasn’t a woman and a knife, did you find what I might have cut my foot on?” Connor asked.

Clay shook his head. “It’s a real mystery. I looked at every step. But I’m going back to check again. If there’s anything sharp on those steps, we’re going to fix it right away.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll draw some bathwater for you.”

While Clay was in the bathroom, Connor settled back into her pillow and closed her eyes. Why couldn’t she accept what Clay was saying? Maybe she had dreamed the woman? She cleared her thoughts and let her mind drift. She was back in the night, waking up slowly, sensing that something was wrong. And she looked at the foot of the bed. The woman had long, dark auburn hair. It was hanging, un-brushed, about her shoulders in thick waves. Her eyes were brown, very large in her pale face. She was clutching the rail at the foot of the bed, her knuckles white with the force of her grip, and there was anger in her eyes—real, dark anger.

Connor gasped and opened her eyes. That woman was no dream. She was as real as the sound of the bathwater running.

Slightly embarrassed, Connor allowed Clay to carry her into the dining room for Christmas dinner. To her surprise, she was hungry, and the tantalizing smells of the food Willene had cooked were whetted by the half-glass of champagne which Clay had allowed her to sip slowly. Everyone kept watching her as if she might pitch to the floor and have a fit. Even the children.

All morning, showing off her new clothes and jewelry and toys, Renata had been unusually subdued. Danny, too, had been quiet. Several times Connor had found them watching her, a speculative look on their faces, as if they were trying to decide whether she was crazy or not. She couldn’t help but wonder if they’d heard about the strange woman in the house, and if so, whether they, too, thought Connor’d lost her mind. Willene obviously did.

The cook had forced her arthritic knees all the way up the flight of stairs to bring Connor apple juice and toast and to help her dress for Christmas dinner.

Connor, already in comfortable slacks and her new sweater, had allowed Willene to French-braid her hair. The cook had fretted and begged Connor not to “allow morbid fantasies to ruin your health. Don’t fall into fears and visions.”

As Clay seated her at the table, Connor sighed. No one in the house seemed willing to believe her side of the story. Why was it easier to believe that she, Connor Claire Tremaine, was losing her mind, than to believe someone else had been in the house?

Whenever she thought about the events of the night before, she felt a headache threaten to roar into life. So Connor pushed her anxieties aside and concentrated on the mountains of food Willene had piled on the table. The southern traditionals reigned—turkey, cornbread dressing, sweet potato casserole, Indian corn, green bean casserole, butter beans, gravy, cranberry sauce, pickled okra, pimiento-stuffed celery, deviled eggs, hot rolls. There wasn’t an item forgotten, and all for only four people.

“Some third-world nation is going to find out about this feast and get us,” she whispered to Clay. Her remark earned his first smile of the day.

“It is rather wasteful, but it’s only once a year, and believe it or not, we’ll eat most of this food.”

“I believe it,” Connor groaned, “I’m just not willing to pay the price. My new pants will split.”

“I doubt that,” Clay said.

Willene came in the doorway and stood surveying the beautiful table. Red candles glowed on the gaily-embroidered tablecloth. “There’s pumpkin, lemon and pecan pies, and German chocolate and coconut cakes.”

“I’m going to die full,” Connor vowed.

“Pass the turkey, please,” Renata said, formally starting the meal. And as everyone dug into the delicious food, the near tragedy of the night before was forgotten.

Stuffed and groaning, Connor was more than glad for Clay to deposit her on the sofa after lunch. He built a big fire and told the children to go down to the barn. With Connor’s approval, Clay had given them permission to ride in the woods. Renata was wearing her new coat and Danny had his halter, eager to see how it looked on Ali Baba.

Their footsteps rushed across the porch and down the steps, and there was a vacuum of silence in their wake.

“How’s my girl?” Clay asked, slipping onto the sofa so that he held her in his lap.

“I’m not really hurt, just sore and banged up.”

“Harlan said he’d stop by to check on you tonight.”

“He shouldn’t bother. I’m really fine.” Her skin crawled at the idea of Harlan. “I’m surprised you called him for me.” She kept the statement without any inflection.

“Once I realized you were knocked unconscious, I was afraid to move you. I straightened you out on the floor and called Harlan. I knew he’d come quickly, and he knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

Connor knew immediately what Clay meant. And she knew why Harlan had been called. Clay couldn’t afford the scandal of a nude woman nearly dead at the foot of his stairs. No, good old Harlan could be counted on to keep his trap shut. He might not be the best doctor in town, but he was for damn sure the most discreet.

“I see,” she said, sounding stiff and angry.

“I know you don’t like Harlan, but he is a good doctor.”

“I’m sorry, Clay, but Harlan doesn’t strike me as a very concerned doctor. He may be smart, and he may be successful, but I don’t think that adds up to good.”

Clay sighed. “He can be good, and he was with you. I made sure.”

“You were both too worried that I’d die and interfere with your political future.” She flung the words at him, and the tears were not far behind.

Even though she tried to stiff-arm him away, Clay pulled her close and held her. “I know you’re upset. You have every right to be. But you’re fine, and we’ll get to the bottom of what happened last night.”

“Or if we’re lucky, my feeble brain will let it slip away. The bad dream will fade, right?”

Clay’s chuckle was heartfelt. “I guess we did sound pretty condescending, didn’t we?”

“Very. You were extremely unpleasant.”

“I can imagine, and I apologize. The important thing is, you’re okay.”

Connor finally yielded, allowing him to pull her into his embrace. The events of the night before, combined with Clay’s lack of faith in her ability to reason, were almost too much for her.

“Do you believe me?” she asked, taking comfort in the clean smell of his shirt.

“I do. I’ve never had reason to doubt you before, Connor Claire. I’ll question everyone here this afternoon.”

“Thank you, Clay,” Connor whispered.

“Now I have a real treat for you.”

“What?” She eased back and looked up at him.

“That rascal Richard Brian called. He’s coming out in the morning, if you feel up to company.”

“Richard!” Connor didn’t try to hide her delight. “I’d
love
to see him.”

“You don’t have to be that enthusiastic,” Clay said, and though he was teasing, there was a look of dark hunger in his eyes.

“Richard is my friend. Only that,” Connor answered, kissing Clay’s face. “I haven’t made but one new friend here. If Elvie didn’t come over to ride occasionally, I don’t know what I’d do. Anyway, it’ll be good to see someone I knew before I came here. Sometimes,” she smiled to take the sting out of her words, “I feel like I didn’t exist before I came here. It’s like there never was a Connor Tremaine in California.”

Clay let his fingers slide through her silky hair. “Have you heard from your father lately?”

“No.” Connor felt a surge of self-pity, and she pushed it aside. “Dad’s never been great about writing. He’s as likely to show up on the doorstep as he is to mail a letter.”

“But he knows where you are and that you’re okay?”

“I’ve sent him letters, so if he’s getting his mail, he knows.” Connor forced a smile. “Dad’s fine. I can only hope he’s negotiating this very moment for a magic horse that will make all his dreams come true.”

“That’s what I love about you, Connor. You don’t let your needs outweigh your brain. You love your father, but you know him.”

“A lesson I learned at my mother’s knee,” Connor said.

“Your love is a gift, freely given and with no strings attached. That’s rare in a woman. Not many women can give love freely.”

Connor felt a touch of chill as she looked at Clay’s blue eyes. “No love is ever completely free, Clay. There are always expectations. I expect that you’ll respect me and treat me well. And it’s as common for a male to withhold love as a female.”

“Touche,” Clay said, “I didn’t mean that to sound so chauvinistic.” He stroked her cheek with his finger. “Too bad my sweetheart is so bruised. This would be a perfect afternoon for … indoor games.”

Connor almost couldn’t resist him. “It’s a case of the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak,” she said, laughing ruefully.

“Well, roll over and let me give you a massage.”

“Oh, Clay, that would be heaven.” Her body did ache. Clay’s hands were so strong, so capable. And the fire beside the sofa was so relaxing.

“I want you up and going tomorrow,” he teased as he flipped her onto her stomach and unhooked her bra. “I won’t have Richard telling people I beat and abuse you.”

“And Richard might take great pleasure in such gossip,” Connor laughed. “You should have heard the scandalous things he said about Mobile before I moved here. He told me everything except about you.”

“I warn you, Richard is one of Mobile’s greatest gossips. He was born into the role and trained by his mother. I’d swear Sugar Brian has a network of paid spies around town.”

“Well, I’ll make sure that he doesn’t have anything to talk about,” Connor said. She looked over her shoulder at Clay. “I’ll only tell him the truth about your fondness for warm, scented oil and …”

“Connor!”

“Just kidding.” She sighed as she felt his hands go to work on her battered back. “Just keep that up and I won’t open my mouth about a thing.”

Against all of her worst fears, Connor found that she was stiff but limbering rapidly when she got up the next morning. It hadn’t been the Christmas Day she’d expected, but it had been wonderful in its own way. Because she was still sore, the four of them had played games in the library while the afternoon faded into dusk.

Now, this morning, she had Richard’s visit to look forward to. Clay had left for town early, a fact that made Connor wonder if he was deliberately clearing out to give her some time with her old friend. He’d vehemently denied it, claiming that a client needed his immediate attention. Still, it would be like him to give her some private time, even with a man who made him slightly jealous. And
that
made Connor’s heart sing. Clay had no cause to be jealous of anyone, but it was good that he was—just a little.

Not exactly bouncing down the stairs, but mobile, Connor was greeted by a smile and a hug from Willene.

“I knew a fall wouldn’t keep you down long, not the Horsewoman of Oaklawn.”

Connor laughed at her title. “Not this time, at least. I wouldn’t want to make a regular habit of going head over heels down those steps. Did Clay ever find what I cut my foot on?”

Willene shook her head and put a cup of hot coffee in front of Connor. “I’ve been worried sick about you.” Her eyes were brimming with tears. “This house has more than its share of accidents. You could have broken your neck. How you cut your foot is a real mystery. There’s nothing sharp on those stairs.”

“It was a knife. I must have stepped on the blade sideways. That’s what made me lose my balance and fall.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck,” Willene said. She poured eggs in the sizzling pan and spooned grits onto a plate for Connor.

“You know,” Connor sipped the coffee, “it’s almost as if someone put something on the steps and then took it away. I’d swear it was a knife. I didn’t see it, but I felt the handle. That woman must have put it there.” She looked up at Willene. “The question is, did she do it deliberately? Was she trying to make me fall?”

“Connor!” Willene walked around the table and put her hands on her shoulders. “That’s a terrible thing to think. It’s bad enough to think you’re seeing strangers in the house without thinking they’re here to get you.”

“When I saw her looking at me, I knew she hated me.” Connor wasn’t going to back down on her story. She knew what she’d seen. “I didn’t imagine her, or make her up, or dream her. I saw her.”

“Mr. Clay asked us all about the woman. Old Henry hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary, but his eyesight might be failing. Mr. Clay even called Jeff in New Orleans to see if it might have been one of his old girlfriends lurking around, looking for him. Jeff denied it. He said none of his women would dare show up at Oaklawn unless they were with him.”

Connor shook her head. “I don’t think Jeff was involved. There was something about this woman. Something familiar, as if I should know her. And she was angry. With me. It was a personal thing between us. Like maybe she believed I’d done something terrible to her.”

Willene shook her head. “Now you sound like those two children,” she said. She turned back to the eggs on the stove and the toast that had popped up.

“What do you mean?”

“That woman they see in the woods.”

“What about her?” Connor felt the heebie-jeebies touch the base of her spine.

Willene shrugged her heavy shoulders. “It’s just children’s foolishness. But they think they know all about her and how she feels. They talk about her likes and dislikes. They say she warned them that something bad was going to happen to you. Some terrible accident.”

“The woman I saw wasn’t a phantom. She was in my room and she was staring at me. It wasn’t some make-believe character those kids concocted.”

Willene slowly buttered the toast on the counter. “Have you listened to the stories those children tell about the woman in the woods? Really listened?”

“Endlessly. I hear how smart she is and how entertaining and how much Renata loves her as a friend. Even Danny parrots everything Renata says.”

“Exactly. She’s becoming more and more real to those children. Aren’t you even a little concerned?”