Wolfsbane (12 page)

The amusement faded from his face.

She lowered her gaze to the paper, feeling the full idiocy of her actions. “I’ll call.” Drawing up her courage, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you.” A lump formed in her throat. “I owe you my life.”

“You owe it to yourself. You’re stronger than this.”

“I don’t know that I am,” she whispered, her words thickened by the emotion pulsing through her. “What if I don’t make it …?” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t want to.

But Canyon must’ve known. He inched closer, his woodsy scent washing over her. “You survived it once. That means it’s in you.” He peered over her face, something unfamiliar in his expression. “You’re strong, Roark.” A cockeyed smile pulled his lips apart. “You might have to dig it out, but don’t ever forget it’s there.” His hand came up—

A throat cleared.

Dani flinched.

Canyon didn’t.

She looked down the hall. Willow stood, hands on her hips, watching. Within seconds Range joined them. He grinned—until he noticed Canyon.

Unease slithered through her. Range had gone through so much to make this evening nice for her and her family. And she had tried to kill herself, then stood here with his brother, wanting more time and more attention. How stupid. Canyon only meant to look after her injuries.

She shot Canyon a quick look, then moved to his brother.

Range hovered, his attention bobbing between her and Canyon until he caught her elbow and led her into the hall. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just … an upsetting phone call. I’m fine.” She pushed a smile
she didn’t feel onto her lips, her mind snagged on the way Canyon had looked at her. The way he’d almost touched her. “Can you take me home?”

Uncertainty flashed through Range’s face. “Uh, yeah, okay. Let me grab the keys.”

“Where’s Abigail?”

“I drove her home a while ago,” Willow said.

Waiting by the front door, Dani held her throbbing arm close. Seconds later, Canyon strode down the hall toward her, his head down. Dani’s heart hammered.

The light from the lone amber sconce accented his handsome features. His jaw muscle popped. Was he mad? As he rounded the corner and started for the stairs, he glanced at her. Held up two fingers, then flicked them into a phone gesture. Two phone calls. He wasn’t letting her off the hook. Dani smiled her agreement—then stiffened as Range hustled down the carpeted steps.

“Doc Henry’s coming by in the morning to check on Mom,” Canyon mumbled as he passed his brother.

Range slowed but didn’t stop. “What time?”

“Eight.” Canyon glanced at Dani again. Eight, the time he demanded she call.

“Okay.” Range opened the door.

As she was ushered into the dark night, she rubbed the scrap of paper in her hand, remembering the silent signal and the intensity of Canyon’s steel gaze that vowed he’d make good on his threat to break down her door.

Oh, she hoped he did.

Soft footsteps climbed the stairs. Canyon clamped his teeth as the floorboards creaked, heralding Willow’s arrival. A subtle swirl of the air told him she waited in the bathroom doorway. He wouldn’t indulge her. She’d wait. A very long time because what brought her up here was something he’d never give: information.

At the sink he worked the soapy lather over his arms, the images of Roark’s blood seeping through his fingers a vivid reminder he tried to scrape away with the suds. He concentrated on scrubbing properly with the brush, something he hadn’t had time to do before she left.

“Want to explain what you were doing in a dark hall with Range’s girl?”

Range’s girl. Huh. Could’ve fooled him with the way she all but
leaned into his touch moments ago.
Scritch. Scritch. Scritch
. Wrists, knuckles, fingernails.

“Okay. I’ll take that as a no.”

“Always were the bright one in the family.”

“Why were you in the bathroom with her?”

How she knew that was beyond him. To his knowledge, she hadn’t seen them exit together. She must’ve seen or heard something. Or maybe she was just fishing.

“What about trying to kiss her?”

“Did no such thing.” He dried his arms and hands, finally eyeing his sister in the mirror. Irritation tightened her mouth. She never did like not getting her way. Too bad. After he tossed the towel in the hamper, he turned and pushed out of the bathroom. Headed back downstairs. In the kitchen, he drew out a glass and filled it with water.

“He likes her. How can you step in on him like this?”

“The only thing I’m stepping into is the kitchen.”

“Whoa, wait,” Leif said as he joined the conversation. “Who’s Canyon making moves on? The senator’s daughter?”

“Not making any moves on anyone. Willow’s looking for a gossip column piece.” Canyon pierced her with a warning look. As he lifted the glass, a dark spot on his sleeve caught his attention. He cursed himself for not seeing it sooner.

“I am not looking for gossip. I’m looking to stop an older brother from stealing Range’s love interest, from hammering a wedge of resentment into our happy family.” Willow folded her arms over her chest. “Again.”

“What’s Willow being overdramatic about now?” Stone wrapped an arm around her, kissed her temple, and said good night.

“How did Canyon’s poor sportsmanship become my drama? I wasn’t the one—”

“Night, Stone.” Canyon drank the water, set down the glass, and rolled up his sleeves, feigning casual comfort. “Better head out. Got an o-dark-thirty meeting.”

“This is not the time to go all mysterious, Canyon Metcalfe. You need to explain yourself.”

“That I don’t.” He started for the hall, where he removed his jacket from the closet.

“Why is there blood on your sleeve?”

Teeth ground, he looked to the side, tempering his aggravation. The frustration pumping through his chest made his breathing uneven.

“Canyon,” Willow said as she came closer. “If you don’t want to tell me what happened, then … just answer me this—is she okay?”

“Good night, Willow.” Without another word, he waved good-bye to Leif.

Trailing him into the night, Willow called, “He asked her to the Coast Guard gala. She agreed. Let them have this chance, Canyon.”

Waving over his head, he hurried out of the house. The thought of Roark and Range … He’d never lost to his little brother. Never. Was that what upset him this time?

No. It was about a woman. A very broken woman.

Which, in his professional judgment, blazed warning enough for both of them to stay off.

In his car, he tugged the small black phone from his pocket. Dialed.

“Wolfsbane, good evening. What can I do for you?”

“I’ve got an idea.”

CHAPTER 7

S
he might as well die.

Oh right. She’d tried that and Canyon interfered. Okay, so maybe life wasn’t as desperate …

No, it definitely was. Dani slid her feet into the sandals and headed downstairs, adjusting the coral sweater where the material snagged on the stitches. As her foot hit the bottom step a reverberating gong carried through the floor and tickled her feet. She stopped as another gong rang out from the antique grandfather clock. And another … another …

Hand on her phone she paused in front of the tall wood pendulum swinging back and forth. Each intonation thudded against her conscience. Eight o’clock. It was time to call him again. Let him know she was okay.

That would be lying. And her mother, a devout Catholic, had raised her better than that.
But Mom’s not here
. Besides, nobody cared. Life was pathetic and depressing.

The painful thought felt weighted and louder than the eighth gong of the clock. What she wouldn’t have done to have her mother’s arms gather her into an embrace of love, understanding, and fierce protection.

“Danielle?”

She flinched at the sound of her sister’s voice as Dani turned and found Alexandra standing by the entry to the family room. “Morning.” Though she mustered the dregs of her energy for the smile she offered her sister, Dani knew she’d failed miserably.

“Chad is making his specialty for breakfast.” Her sister smiled and ambled over the gleaming marble floor. “Would you like to join us?”

Chad. Her father’s clone. But on a smaller scale and, unlike her father, Chad had some semblance of family values and good enough
sense to spend the morning making breakfast for his wife and children.

“Dani?”

“No. Thank you.” She smiled again. “I think … I think I’ll just sit on the patio for a while. Enjoy the sun.”

“I could join you.”

With her fingers on the brass lever for the patio door, Dani faced her sister. “This is your family time. Go be with them.” She waved Alexandra away.

“Please, consider—”

“I already answered that.” Crisis counseling. Her sister had mentioned it almost daily. She didn’t want to expose a complete stranger to her nightmare—she wanted to forget it!

Putting on the facade of well-being and happiness drained her. She stepped onto the pebbled cement and strolled toward the table and chairs by the pool. Standing beneath the partial shade of the table umbrella gave her a view of the gardens. Her stepmother had insisted on making it as much like a true English garden as possible. Never understanding the point, Dani avoided the extravagant display. But somehow, for some reason, today she wanted to explore the grounds.

Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she traveled the path between parallel hedgerows that dumped her into a rectangular-shaped space. In the middle, a smaller rectangle boxed in a fountain. Water spewed and dumped from the jug atop the shoulder of a peasant woman, the tumbling waves foaming at her feet. Another stream flowed from a smaller jug propped on her hip. The woman looked as much gypsy as she did princess.

Absurd. Yet it didn’t surprise her considering the ideals of her father. He wanted his wife to stay at home, raise the children—do wife things. Make him look good as a senator-cum-vice-presidential candidate. He’d threatened disinheritance when Dani told him she joined the Army Corps of Engineers. But that was nothing compared to his face when she explained her job with the USACE was blowing things up with explosives.

Explosive. Yeah, that’s about how she could’ve described his reaction.

“I’ll build you a lab out back. Just don’t do this. Think what the constituents will think if my daughter is building bombs!”

Dear old Dad never considered that his daughter wanted to get away from him and his trophy wife. Tugging a leaf from the wall of shrubs, she kept walking, enjoying the soft cushion of grass beneath her feet.

Somewhere in the distance the squeal of tires stalked the quiet morning. Rich kids with expensive cars and no brains. She’d grown up with them. Maybe … maybe at one time she was one of them.

General Bruzon changed that—changed her.

She squeezed her eyes tight to block the images that assailed her. His hands … “No.” Dani pinched the bridge of her nose. Alcoholic breath … “No!” Shoulders hunched, she pulled closer to the shrubs and wished they’d drag her into their foliage, help her disappear.

Noise erupted.

Dani paused and listened, blinking back the memories and panicked tears. What? When loud voices intruded, she glanced in the direction the sound came from.

Shouts spilled from the house. Brow furrowed, she started back along the path. As soon as she returned to the fountain, she stopped short.

From between two shrub columns burst Canyon. A deep scowl carved a mean line down his face. His gaze collided with hers. He stalked over the stones, his fists balled.

Her breath backed up into her throat as he stormed toward her. Behind him—blurred since she didn’t dare take her eyes off him—Alexandra stopped, hand over her mouth.

“Two phone calls,” he said in a terse, low voice. “Midnight, eight o’clock.”

“I … I—”

“You’re late. The cops are here.” With a huff, he halted not a foot from her.

Cold rushed through her stomach and chest. “You brought them?” She glanced at her sister, who watched with a curious expression, then turned and hurried back to the house.