The Last Honest Woman (22 page)

"I'll give you a hand." Maddy was up and bouncing toward the door. "I'd rather play with the horses than peel potatoes." When the first blast of cool air hit her face, she tossed her head back. "I hope you know your way around the barn. I don't."

"I can manage."

Sigmund bounded around the side of the house and leaped toward her, tongue lolling. Maddy evaded him with the ease of a woman used to dodging foot traffic on crowded sidewalks. She bent down and rubbed his fur vigorously with both hands until he settled down.

"I don't know what to make of you, Dylan." Still leaning over the dog, she turned her head to look up at him. "I'd almost decided not to like you until I saw you with the boys. Generally I think kids are the best judge of people, and they like you." When he said nothing, she straightened and looked directly at him. "The main reason I came down to see Abby was because of you."

Dylan decided the stock could wait, and drew out a cigarette. "I don't think I follow you."

"When I talked to Abby a week or so ago, she sounded unnerved. It takes a lot to unnerve Abby." Maddy dipped her hands into her pockets, but her candid, friendly gaze remained on his. "She's been through a lot. I wasn't always around, Chantel wasn't always around, it wasn't possible to give her support when it turned out she needed it most. That's why we're here now."

He let out a long stream of smoke. "It seems to me that Abby can take care of herself."

"Absolutely." She dragged a hand through her hair, but the wind tossed it back again. "Look at this place. She loves it, and whether she's told you or not, she's done it all on her own. All. I don't know what she's told you, or might tell you, about Chuck Rockwell, but everything here is Abby's."

"You didn't like him."

"For an actress, I'm often transparent. No, I didn't like him, and there are really very few people I can say that about But my feelings are my own, and Abby's are hers. I won't see her slapped down again, though." She smiled a little, but her smile took nothing away from her firm tone. "Thing is, I'd expected to stand between you and Abby with my fists raised. I don't think that's going to be necessary."

"You don't know me."

"I think Abby does," she said simply. "If she cares for you, there's a reason. I guess that's enough." She linked her arm through his as though she'd been doing so for years. "Let's feed the horses."

Dinner was a babble of conversation. The food might have been simple, but it was consumed enthusiastically, down to the last crumb. When it came time to deal with the dishes, Frank made his escape with his banjo. Because he was entertaining the children, Abby said nothing and went about the task herself. It was reward enough to hear her father's voice over the sound of clattering china and silverware.

"Let me do that."

"Mom, you're on vacation."

"Do you know the last time I washed dishes?" Molly stacked plates in the quick, expert style that demonstrated her on-again, off-again career as a waitress. "God, I don't. I used to think it was relaxing."

Maddy wrinkled her nose and grabbed a few glasses. "I wish you'd come to my apartment and relax. Come on, Chantel, grab that platter."

"I peeled the potatoes," She looked critically at her hands. "Unless you have surgical gloves, I'm not putting these in dishwater."

"Vain," Maddy grumbled as she stacked more dishes. "Always vain."

"It's only vanity if you haven't a right to it." Chantel smiled and slid off the stool. "I think I'll give Pop a hand."

Dylan began to stack plates in the dishwasher. "I imagine you've done enough housework for one day," he said to Abby. "Why don't you go sit with your father?"

One look was enough to remind her of the harsh words he'd spoken that morning. Wanting to avoid a scene in front of her family, Abby backed off. "It looks as though you have things under control."

There was the sound of three-part harmony from the living room. "Frank'll be in heaven," Molly commented. "He's got his girls singing with him again. Go ahead, Maddy, we're nearly done here."

Maddy needed no urging to slip out of the kitchen and into the spotlight. Within seconds the voices were joined by another. Frank picked up the beat with the banjo and went into the next number. Molly began to hum as she wiped off a counter.

"Guess I'm sentimental," she said, "but it does my soul good to hear them."

"You've quite a family, Mrs. O'Hurley."

"Oh, Lord, don't call me that. Call me that and you remind me I'm too damn old to be running around the country and smearing on greasepaint. Molly, just plain Molly."

Dylan closed the door of the dishwasher and looked at her, really looked. She was lovely, with soft, small features and a full, youthful mouth. The lines made no difference that he could see, no difference at an. "I wouldn't say just plain Molly."

She laughed, a full, robust sound that contrasted with her height and build. "Oh, you're a smart one, you are, and you've a way with words. I read your last book, the one about that actress, on the train." She laid the dishcloth over the spigot.

"And?" There was an
and
in there, though he wasn't certain it would be complimentary.

"You're a hard man, the kind who sees things that would probably be better left alone. But you're fair." When she turned and looked at him again, really looked, he saw that her eyes were like Abby's, deep and vulnerable. "Be fair with my girl, Dylan. That's all I want. She's strong. Sometimes it scares me just how strong. When she's hurt, she doesn't ask for help, but binds her wounds herself. I don't want her to have to bind anymore."

"I didn't come here to hurt her."

"But you may unintentionally hurt her in the end." She sighed a little. Her children were grown. They'd started taking steps without her help years before. "Can you sing?" she asked him abruptly.

Off balance, he looked at her a moment, then laughed. "No."

"Then it's time you learned." She took him by the arm and led him out to join the others.

It was after midnight before the house settled down. Abby thought Maddy and Chantel might still be talking and laughing in the room they were sharing. Her parents would be asleep, as comfortable in the strange bed as they had been in hundreds of other strange beds. She was restless, too restless to sleep, too restless to join her sisters. Instead, she slipped a coat over her robe and went out to the barn. The foal that had pleased Maddy so much was asleep, curled contentedly in the hay with her mother guarding him. Gladys was awake, perhaps too close to her own time to rest. Abby stroked her, hoping to soothe both herself and the mare.

"You need some sleep."

Her fingers tightened in the mare's mane, then slowly relaxed before she turned to Dylan. "I didn't hear you come in. I thought everyone was in bed."

"You should be. You look tired." He came closer, almost afraid to get close enough to touch her. "I saw you leave. I was standing at the window."

"Just checking on Gladys," Abby rested her cheek against the mare's. The morning's argument seemed so far away. It seemed like years since she'd lain beside him and felt excitement build. "With my family here, it's going to be a little difficult for us to work together for the next couple of days."

"I've got enough to work on my own for a while. Abby…" He wanted her, wanted to gather her close and pretend things were every bit as simple as sitting around the living room and singing. He wanted to offer her the kind of unconditional support her family did, yet there seemed to be a wall between them. "I'd like to talk to you about this morning."

She'd known he would. For a moment, she continued to stroke Gladys. "All right. Would you like to go inside?"

"No." He caught her as she turned, caught her before he could give himself the chance to remember he should keep a certain distance. "I want you alone. Damn it, Abby, I want some answers. You're driving me crazy."

"I wish I could give you the ones you want." She took a deep breath and put her hands on his arms, both to comfort, and to emphasize her point. "Dylan, I decided as I was driving back here today to tell you everything, to be completely open with you. I may not give you the answers you want, but I'm going to trust you with the truth."

That was all he wanted from her, or so he told himself. He watched her in the dim, slanting light. "Why?"

She could have evaded him, and perhaps she should have, but honesty had to begin somewhere. "Because I'm in love with you."

He didn't step back, but his hands slid slowly away from her until he was no longer touching her. Abby felt a little tingle of pain. "I told you it might not be the answer you wanted."

"Wait a minute. Wait a minute," he repeated as she turned away. Even through his own shock he'd seen the flicker of hurt in her eyes. "You can't expect to say something like that and not leave me a little stunned." When she turned toward him, he didn't reach out to her, because she terrified him. "I don't know what to say to you."

"You don't have to say anything." Her words were calm and low, and there was a touch of amusement in her eyes now. "I'm responsible for my own feelings, Dylan. That's something I learned a long time ago. I answered your question honestly because I decided that avoiding this and the rest of your questions will only put me into a hole I may never get out of. About this morning—"

"The hell with this morning." He caught her face in his hands and stared at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. "I don't know what to do about you. I sure as hell don't know what to do for you."

It would have been so easy just to step forward into his arms. To ask to be held. She knew he wouldn't refuse. Abby shook her head and kept her arms at her sides. "That's a problem I can't help you with."

She was closer now, but he didn't even realize that he'd closed the distance between them. "I don't want to get tangled up in a relationship. I had one marriage hit the skids. I have a career that requires me to be selfish to begin with."

"I'm not asking you for a relationship, Dylan. I'm not asking you for anything at all."

"That's the trouble, damn it. If you asked, I could tell you to forget it." Or so he hoped. "If you asked I could give you two dozen reasons why it would never work." She looked at him, her eyes warm and calm. He swore at her, then at himself, before he drew her into his arms. "I want you. There doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it."

"There's nothing you have to do."

"Shut up," he muttered. Then he closed his mouth over hers.

It was as if the day had never happened. The heat, the passion, the glow, were just as strong as they'd been before. She softened against him as if she knew he needed her to be soft. Her lips were avid and hungry on his, meeting every demand. In the dim light of the barn he could see her eyes flutter closed, then open to watch him as their mouths met again and again. The scent of animals and hay and leather was strong, but as she entwined her arms around him he could only smell the fresh, light hint of soap on her skin.

"I don't want to talk." He skimmed his lips over her cheek before he drew her back. "I don't really want to think."

"No." She linked her fingers with his. "Not tonight. I'll give you all the answers, Dylan. I promise."

He nodded but wondered if she already had.

Contents
-
Prev
|
Next

Things got a little crazy when Gladys went into labor. Abby was walking through her morning routine, her father strolling along beside her. The ground was hard again and just beginning to show signs of new life. Her father's shoes hit the path in their own cheerful rhythm. She never tired of listening to him spin his stories of life on the road. Even though she'd been there herself for more than half her life, Abby was able to suspend reality and believe it was all glamour and excitement and opening nights.

"I tell you, Abby, it's a great life. City after city, town after town. What a way to see the world."

He never mentioned the back-alley entrances, the smoke-and liquor-filled rooms, or the disinterested crowds. There were no such things in Frank O'Hurley's world. Abby was grateful for it.

"Vegas, what a place. The neon flashing, the slot machines clinking. People waltzing around in evening clothes at 8:00 a.m. Ah, I'd give a lot to play Vegas again."

"You will, Pop." Maybe not on the Strip, maybe not with his name several feet high on a marquee, but he'd play Vegas again. Just as he'd play in dozens of other towns. A man like Frank O'Hurley couldn't stop performing any more than he could stop breathing and survive. In the blood, he'd often said to her, and in the blood it was. And it was because the O'Hurley blood was thick that he was up before eight o'clock and walking in a farmyard with his daughter when be usually considered noon a barely civilized hour. Knowing that only made Abby love him more.

"This place." He stopped but was careful not to breathe too deeply. "It suits you, I guess. Must take after your grandma. Never would leave that farm in Ireland." He had a moment's pang for early memories that were more dreams than memories. "You happy, Abby?"