Finally Home (23 page)

CHAPTER 23

“M
onica?” Casie forced a smile and tried not to pass out. She detested confrontations as only a pacifist raised by natural combatants can. “Do you have a second?”

The older woman raised her arched brows. Even after the pitched battle with her ex-husband only a few minutes before, there was not a hair out of place. She was sophisticated, intelligent, and sleekly sexy. The impregnable feminine trifecta. Casie tugged self-consciously at her sweatshirt. It had seen better days. Hell, it had seen better days ten years ago.

“Of course, Cassandra,” Monica said and glanced at the closed bathroom door. She was carrying a leather toiletry bag that looked like it might have been custom-made in warmer climes. Her nails had been brushed with a clear lacquer. Her skin looked smooth and soft. Not at all as if she had spent endless hours delivering calves and shoveling horse manure. “I suppose Sophia will be a minute anyway.”

Casie nodded. Of the three women who usually shared that single bathroom, Sophie was the one who tended to monopolize the space. But compared to her carefully polished mother, the girl was a speed demon. Casie cleared her throat and kept her voice low. “Downstairs?”

“Oh!” Monica gave a slight lift of her shoulders. “Certainly,” she said and stepped onto the stairs. She walked very upright with a minimum of body movement. Her arms were almost perfectly still, as if she only did one thing at a time so as to perform it with precision.

Monica preceded Casie into the living room. The Christmas tree lights glowed softly. A dozen handmade ornaments were sprinkled among the store-bought ones. Only a topper was missing. From the nearby kitchen, Emily was adding a rapper beat to a George Strait classic. At any other moment it might have been amusing. But Casie was entirely focused on the upcoming conversation.

“What can I do for you, Cassandra?” Monica asked. Somehow, without apparent effort, she made it sound a little like a formal interview . . . or a gargantuan favor.

Casie refrained from clearing her throat again. Neither did she hide under the couch as she dearly longed to do. “Sophie is . . .” She'd rehearsed this conversation a half dozen times in the fifteen minutes since the ulcer-inducing meal they had shared with Philip Jaegar, but there was no way this was going to be anything short of painful. “We think a great deal of your daughter.”

“Oh . . .” Monica Day-Bellaire smiled. She wasn't classically beautiful perhaps, but it was ultimately clear that she looked exactly as she wished to. “That's very kind of you to say, Cassandra. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your opening your home to her.”

“It's been my pleasure,” Casie said, though, truth to tell, it had also, at times, been monumentally terrifying and a colossal pain in the rear. She did clear her throat now, then hated herself for the weakness. “That's why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?” The winged brows rose again, though barely a single wrinkle showed in the woman's alabaster skin.

“She . . .” Casie tapped her index finger against her blue-jeaned thigh. Right about now it would be fantastic to have Emily's lying skills. And yet she hoped to God neither of the Lazy's resident teenagers would get wind of this conversation. “. . . Admires you a great deal.”

“Well . . .” Her smile was beatific. “She thinks highly of you, too, Cassandra.”

That wasn't exactly the message she had been trying to convey, but she moved on. “She cares for her father, too.”

The woman's smile stiffened, but just the smallest amount, a tribute, perhaps, to her exceptional self-control. “Well, a girl
should
respect her elders, regardless of their shortcomings.”

Okay. Casie forced herself to continue. “I don't want to see her hurt.”

Monica scowled, then nodded slowly as if deep in thought. “I could try to get a court order to keep him from visiting her, I suppose.”

Casie blinked. “What?”

“She's growing up. If she signed a legal document stating she wants no further contact with him, perhaps the court would agree to—”

“I didn't mean he shouldn't be allowed to see her.”

“Oh . . .” Those classy brows rose again as if she couldn't possibly have been more surprised. “Well, what did you mean?”

“I meant . . .” She was floundering badly. “Perhaps while you're here you could try to remember that she's not as . . .” Casie thought of the little lost girl that sometimes showed through Sophie's jaded eyes. “Don't get me wrong, your daughter's tough.”

“Did you know her great-grandmother was the first woman in the state of Kentucky to get her pilot's license?”

“No, she didn't tell me that.”

She canted her head a little. “Neither Lillian Meier nor her daughter, my grandmother, was exactly warm and cuddly, I'm told.” She smiled. “Mother never appreciated their need to achieve, but I always understood that drive. I believe Sophie does, too.”

Casie wasn't sure where this was going exactly, but she tried to stay on track. “Yes, she's a hard worker.”

Monica stared at her a second. “Oh, you mean here on the farm,” she said and laughed a little. “Yes, I'm sure she is, and that's very nice, but once she realizes her true potential, she'll be far more driven, I'm certain.”

Casie watched her, but in her mind, she saw Sophie astride Freedom, her eyes on fire, every muscle in synch with her mount. “You don't think she'll continue with horses?”

“I'm sure what you do here is very important,” Monica said, though something about her expression belied her words. “But I believe my daughter is destined for other things.”

“Maybe,” Casie said and couldn't forget the way the girl seemed to unwind when in equine company. “But maybe this is the kind of life she wants for herself.”

Monica laughed. “Perhaps you're right, Cassandra. Is that all you wished to speak to me about?”

Casie wanted nothing more than to say yes, that was it, nothing important to discuss here, but she trapped the words between her teeth. “Please be careful,” she said instead.

Somehow Monica could smile with her mouth while questioning with her eyes. “Be careful of what?”

Casie glanced toward the stairs, hoping like hell that the object of their discussion couldn't hear them. “She's more sensitive than she seems.”

“Well . . .” Monica said, and now there was a hint of pity in her eyes, as if she believed Casie was casting her own shortcomings onto Sophie's hardened psyche. “I'll certainly keep that in mind. Now if you'll excuse me—”

“What you do now will affect her forever.” Casie said the words a little more quickly than she had intended, imbuing them with too much force, too much emotion.

Monica twisted back toward her, eyes narrowing a little. “I'm afraid I'm uncertain what you're—”

“You gotta quit sniping at your ex,” Emily said.

They turned in unison. The little mother stood in the doorway with the baby at her shoulder. Casie had no idea when she had entered the room. The kitchen radio was playing a Keith Urban song.

“I'm sorry,” Monica said, but her tone rather suggested the opposite. “What did you say?” Her expression was haughty, bordering on outraged, but Emily was cool under fire.

“Sophie seems like a hard nut, but like Ty would say . . .” The girl shook her head once, dreadlocks brushing her shoulders as she rocked Bliss in her arms. “. . . Even bucking bulls ain't bulletproof.”

The older woman scowled as if uncertain whether to be offended or just confused.

“Your squabbles with Mr. Jaegar are making her feel bad,” Emily explained.

Monica pulled her shoulders back an additional half inch. The movement reminded Casie a little of a cobra preparing to strike. “Philip has always been jealous of my relationship with Sophia. He's . . .” She shook her head, the movement short and sharp. “My grandmother warned me that his people weren't . . .” She paused as if to find the perfect phraseology. “As . . . ambitious as we are.”

Casie and Emily stared at her in mute immobility. The younger woman was the first to rally.

“I'm sure he's intimidated by your success,” she said.

Casie blinked at her, but Emily was unruffled.

“You're an extremely strong individual,” she added.

“It's a curse,” Monica said. “And a gift, I suppose.”

“Of course,” Emily agreed. “That's why you're going to have to be the bigger person.”

Monica watched her, unblinking. Casie was just as mesmerized, though she had seen the girl work her magic a hundred times. Manipulation was an art form where Emily Kane was concerned.

“How do you mean?”

The girl shrugged as if just working her way through the miasma. “Maybe you've heard the expression ‘Kill him with kindness'?”

Monica's lips, lightly glossed and carefully outlined, tilted up a fraction of an inch. “I believe I
have
heard that phrase.”

Emily shrugged, casual as Fridays, but if one knew her well, one might discern the diabolical gleam in her eye. “Not that we want to make Mr. Jaegar look like a villain.”

“Of course not.” Monica's lips curved slightly downward, just hinting at less-than-charitable thoughts. “It
is
Christmas,” she said.

“It is,” Emily agreed.

“Very well. After all, there is nothing that makes a man more uncomfortable than perfection.”

Perfection?

Emily refrained from rolling her eyes. Casie could not have been more impressed if the girl had sprouted wings.

“Great,” she said. “Well, I'm going to check the chicken's heat lamp, then I'll hit the hay.” She jostled Bliss gently as the baby dozed against her shoulder. “For a couple hours at least.”

“Sleep well.”

Emily yawned. “You too.”

“Oh, I will.” Monica's voice was almost a purr. In a second, she had disappeared up the stairs.

Casie glanced at Emily. She still didn't roll her eyes. Holy Hannah, the girl was a master.

“I'm going to put Baby down,” she said. “Would you mind keeping half an eye on her while I run outside?”

Casie shook her head. “Anything for our evil genius.”

 

Emily tugged her coat tightly against her chest, glanced back toward the house, and knocked softly on the bunkhouse door. Not a sound could be heard. Snow settled softly on her shoulders. She hunched them against the cold and knocked again.

After a silent lifetime, footsteps could be heard on the floor inside. She held her breath. The door opened a crack. Lincoln Alexander scowled at her.

Gathering every ounce of strength she possessed, Emily pushed her way inside. The room was dim, lit only by the lamp perched beside the bed. It cast an amber glow around the room, illuminating the oil paintings on the wall, the cowhide rugs spread across the hardwood floor. She reminded herself that she had done this, had cleaned and decorated and organized. But it was cold comfort.

She pulled her attention back to Lincoln. His eyes were as steady and focused as she remembered.

“How'd you find me?” she asked and held his gaze. He was skinnier than he used to be, but his hands were the same, long-fingered and nimble.

He didn't answer but watched her with quicksilver eyes, eyes that could make people believe in him, could make people care. But she wouldn't be a fool again. Not now. Not when Bliss slept just a few yards away.

“You've done well for yourself, Ellie,” he said.

She tightened her fists and remained exactly where she was. “I'm legitimate, if that's what you mean.”

He made no response.

She drew a deep breath. “I want you to leave.”

“I paid for a full week.”

“I'll give you your money back.”

His eyes sparked. “They trust you with the finances?”

She felt her gut twitch. “I'm not the person I used to be.”

He watched her again, eyes unblinking, lips a hard line. “How old's the baby?”

Terror crept over her like a cold tide, but she wouldn't show it, wouldn't give in. “She's not yours, if that's what you're wondering.”

His fingers twitched. The fingers of an artist . . . or a pickpocket. “How old?” he asked again.

“She's not yours!” she repeated, then lowered her voice, hoping to hell Max couldn't hear her through the ancient log walls.

Something flickered in his eyes, but she couldn't read his thoughts. Had never been able to, not even when she'd been infatuated by him. Not even when she'd thought him a genius and herself lucky to be at his side.

She'd been a fool. But she couldn't afford to be one again.

“I'll expect you to be gone before dinner tomorrow,” she said.

“Where'd you learn to cook?”

For just a second, just a fractured moment in time, she almost asked if he'd enjoyed her meals. God help her! How needy was she? Even now. Even after all she'd been through.

“If I'd known you were so talented, I wouldn't have had to steal all those potpies.”

She remembered sharing those pies. Remembered laughing when she'd realized he'd snuck an entire cheesecake in under his shirt.

“I want you gone,” she repeated and turned away, but he caught her arm.

Feelings flared through her like fireworks, sprinting off in every direction.

“I didn't come here to cause trouble for you, El.”

She tamped down the sparks, quashed the feelings. She wasn't her mother, needing a man to make her whole. Needing someone despite the consequences. “Good,” she said. “Then I'll say good-bye now.”