Amanda (15 page)

“The broodmares?”

“Glory’s. Expectant mothers seem to do better in quiet surroundings while they’re waiting to foal, and all the barns and paddocks at Glory tend to be on the noisy side with so much activity going on. So Jesse and my father made a deal years ago, before I was born. Jesse provided the money to rebuild and keep up the old stables at King High—which hadn’t been used for anything except hacks in years—and put up new fencing. In return, he has pasture and stable rights for his broodmares. I have the pleasant sights and sounds of horses at my place without the responsibilities or expense, and my pastureland is kept in good shape.”

“And the horses have a quiet place to foal.”

“Right. The vet visits regularly, and a couple of stablehands keep the place neat and keep an eye on the mares. One of Jesse’s people usually rides over every other day or so to check on them.”

“Victor?” she guessed.

“Sometimes. So You’ve met him?”

“Yes.” She didn’t elaborate.

Walker looked at her thoughtfully. “he’s excellent with horses. A bit rough-edged with people.”

Amanda nodded responsively, but her eyes were
even more wary than before. Before he could comment, however, both dogs whined rather insistently, demanding attention.

“it’s later than I thought,” Amanda said, looking at her watch. “Almost their suppertime. All right, guys, We’ll go back to the house.”

She glanced at Walker, but didn’t offer a farewell, and he told himself that was why he fell into step beside her as she turned away from the bald and toward a path that would lead them to the house.

“Jesse made a copy of that map for me,” she said.

“Did he?”

“Yes. So—I can find my way back. If you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t.” Walker didn’t offer her an excuse for accompanying her back to Glory, mostly because he didn’t have one.

She sent him another quick glance, which he met calmly, then said a bit hastily, “Maggie keeps warning me about snakes, but I haven’t seen any so far.”

He wondered why that particular topic had suggested itself to her, but decided not to question. “Copperheads can be deadly, but you’re more likely to see black snakes and they’re harmless. Just keep your eyes open and watch where you step. This time of year, with everything green, copperheads are fairly easy to see since they’re marked with bands of reddish colors.”

Amanda nodded gravely. “Thanks for telling me. I guess I should probably wear hiking boots when I’m out like this.”

Walker, who was wearing boots, looked down at her running shoes and agreed. “Safer—and probably better for your feet. Running shoes are designed for smooth surfaces.”

They walked in silence for several minutes, the path
they followed winding among tall trees in a steady but slight downhill grade, and then she spoke abruptly. “I know Jesse has cancer.”

He wasn’t especially surprised, either by the statement or by his inability to determine from her composed expression how she felt—or if she felt anything at all—about the matter. “Maggie tell you?”

“Sully.”

“One of them was bound to. I had a feeling Jesse wouldn’t.” “Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t want pity. Especially from you.”

She digested that in silence for a moment, then said, “Sully told me—he probably wouldn’t last until Christmas.”

Evenly, Walker said, “That’s what the doctors say.” “Does Maggie know that?” “Of course she does. Why?”

Amanda shook her head. “I just—I don’t think she wants to believe it, that’s all.”

Walker shrugged. “Probably not. She’s been at Glory a long time, since Kate was born. She’s the only one of us even close to being Jesse’s contemporary, and they understand each other.”

“You understand him too, don’t you?”

He looked ahead of them to watch the dogs crisscrossing the path, always within sight of Amanda, then looked at her briefly. “Well enough. Why?”

“It was a fairly unimportant question,” she said after a moment, her tone now as guarded as her eyes. “You don’t have to pounce on it as if I were trying to pry a secret out of you.”

“Did I do that? Sorry. Call it an occupational hazard.”

“I wish I could call it that. But I think we both
know it’s something else. I’m not trying to pump you for information, Walker, I was just curious.”

“I said I was sorry.” He was conscious of tension, of an abruptly heightened awareness between them that their mutual distrust seemed to intensify. He was, suddenly, so conscious of her that he could almost hear her breathing.

“So you did.” Her voice was very noncommittal.

Silence again, thick this time. Walker didn’t like it, but said nothing as they walked on. Eventually they came to a fairly narrow stream, and she paused on the bank, frowning. Since there were large, flat stones arranged by nature or human hands to provide an easy and sturdy crossing, he assumed something else was bothering her.

“What?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral.

“This looks like a new stream—it’s hardly cut into the ground at all. Didn’t we pass through an older dry streambed back there?” she asked, her own voice carefully prosaic.

He nodded.

“Did beavers change the course of the stream, or—”

“They do from time to time, but this was from a flash flood last year. They’re fairly common in the spring and early summer. The force of the floodwaters caused broken branches and brush to dam up the stream and reroute it. The next flood may change it again—or put it back the way it was.”

“Oh.” She stepped on the flat stones to cross over.

“you’re very observant,” he noted, following her.

“Just curious by nature.” She paused, then added deliberately, “About most everything. I tend to ask a lot of questions.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Her smile was brief. “Sure you will.”

Her disbelief bothered him a lot more than it should have. “You could meet me halfway, you know,” he suggested. “Supply a few answers instead of just questions.”

She paused as the path they were following ended at the edge of the woods on the northwest side of the lawn, and watched the dogs race off toward the end of the rear wing of the house. As if she hadn’t heard him, she said, “I guess they mean to get to the house by going through the garden. It’s closer from this point, anyway.”

Walker caught her arm when she would have followed the dogs. “Discussion over?” he demanded cynically.

She looked up at him, for a moment expressionless, and pulled her arm from his grasp. Then she said, “I thought it was. Meet you halfway? When you’re still pretty much avoiding the bare courtesy of using my name? Why on earth would I want to tell you anything at all?”

He watched her walk away from him, telling himself her words were no more than a facile justification for her secrecy, her evasiveness, and her refusal to come clean about her past. He told himself that several times, emphatically.
He
was not in the wrong,
she
was.

So why in hell did he feel so defensive?

“Dammit,” he muttered, and followed her.

A
MANDA HADN’T EXPECTED HIM TO
come after her, and when he caught up to her at the edge of the garden, she had no idea how she would react.

“Amanda, wait.”

“So you do know the name,” she marvelled, more sharply than she intended.

He didn’t try to stop her, but walked beside her on the wide main path that wound through the garden and led toward the house.

“I haven’t avoided using it,” he told her. “Not deliberately, anyway.”

“That makes it worse.”

“Don’t hold me accountable for my subconscious. We both know I’m not convinced you’re Amanda Daulton.”

She stopped and stared at him, wishing this didn’t bother her so much but unable to pretend it didn’t. “And I can’t prove to you that I was born Amanda any more than I can prove I was born a Daulton. But, dammit, Amanda
is my name.
I’ve never been called anything else. At least give me that much.”

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “All right. You’re Amanda.”

“Thank you.”

She wondered if he really accepted it this time, but managed to keep most of the sarcasm out of her tone. She continued along the path, following the impatient dogs, who never got out of sight of her and so couldn’t get far ahead in the maze of the garden. She was too aware of Walker beside her, and it worried her to know how easily he could shake her off balance.

Maggie greeted them at the door of the sunroom and told Amanda she would take the dogs to be fed. Though the Dobermans accepted Amanda completely, they had been very carefully trained with security in mind and would accept food from only two people: Jesse and Maggie.

“Are you coming to supper, Walker?” she asked.

“Am I invited?” He was looking at Amanda.

Amanda sat down on the foot of a rattan lounge and pulled the scarf from her hair, wondering even as she did it if she wanted to hide behind a protective veil of hair. Mildly, she said, “Kate’s the hostess of Glory, not me.”

Maggie looked from Amanda to Walker, seemingly amused, then told the lawyer, “we’re eating at seven tonight since Jesse won’t be back until late. You’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly.

When the housekeeper had called the dogs to heel
and left the sunroom, Walker sat down in a wrought-iron chair near Amanda’s lounge and looked at her.

Interpreting that look, she said in a dry tone of her own, “Since I don’t belong here, how could I issue any kind of an invitation?”

“Was that your reason?” he asked.

Amanda fixed her attention on the scarf for a moment, smoothing the silk and loosely folding it. But he was waiting for a response with characteristic patience, and she finally dropped the scarf beside her on the lounge’s floral cushions and met his steady gaze.

“Believe it or not, that is more or less the reason. Jesse accepts me, but the others haven’t yet, and I don’t want to presume.”

Walker didn’t react with either belief or disbelief; he merely said, “Jesse won’t be here tonight to … keep a tight rein on the situation.”

Amanda had thought of that, and she wasn’t particularly looking forward to the evening. She managed a shrug. “And you think the results might be entertaining? Fine. Come watch. But I don’t plan to provoke anybody.”

Walker stood up when she did, but he didn’t follow when she headed toward the hallway, and he spoke only when she reached the door. “Amanda?”

She paused to look back at him.

“If you brought along any armor, you’d better wear it tonight.” His voice was mocking.

“Thanks for the suggestion.” She went out of the sunroom, catching a glimpse of her tense face in the mirror that hung on the wall as she turned the sharp corner into the hallway, and told herself to stop letting the man
get
to her. Why did she always feel so … so prickly when he was near?

What she needed to do, and quickly, was cultivate an attitude of complete indifference toward the lawyer.
It shouldn’t be that hard, Amanda reassured herself. All she had to do was remember why she was here. That should be enough.

She had gone only a few steps when she realized that she’d left her scarf behind, and because it was one of her favorites she didn’t want to leave it lying about. Sighing, hoping Walker had gone, she turned back.

Wary of facing him again, she looked into the mirror before she turned the corner into the sunroom; she had already realized that from that specific angle, it was possible to see a large portion of the sunroom reflected in the mirror.

Walker was still in the room.

Amanda stopped, watching him without his awareness, feeling like an idiot for being reluctant to face him, but nevertheless unwilling to, at least until she’d spent some time practicing her indifferent attitude. He was standing by the rattan lounge where she’d been sitting, his brooding gaze directed downward.

He didn’t look very happy, she thought. In fact, he looked a bit grim. While she watched, he bent down and then straightened with her scarf trailing from his long fingers.

He folded the narrow oblong of silk a couple of times with slightly jerky movements, his fingers examining the texture of the soft fabric. Then he lifted his hand to his mouth and brushed the silky material back and forth across his lips. Paused. Inhaled slowly. His eyelids grew heavy, sensuous. A muscle flexed in his jaw.

Then he swore softly, dropped the scarf onto the lounge, turned, and left the room.

Amanda leaned her shoulder against the wall, staring at the bright reflection of a sunroom now empty of troublesome—and troubling—lawyers. She could hear herself breathing unevenly. Her legs felt unsteady and
her heart seemed to be beating all through her body. When she lifted a hand to her cheek, her skin felt hot. And her hand was trembling.

Indifference.

“Now what?” she whispered.

At first it seemed that both Amanda’s misgivings and Walker’s warning about the evening would prove to be groundless. Everyone met in the parlor before supper, that habit being ingrained, and if nobody had very much to say, at least the occasional silences held little noticeable tension.