Grapes of Wrath (Billionaires' Secrets Book 2) (8 page)

“He’ll never leave the
estancia
.” The words flew from her tongue. “It’s everything to him, his life’s work. He loves it like—”
Like a father loves his son.

She held her tongue. Regretted the passion with which she’d spoken.

Tarrant frowned and studied her. “Bring him here just long enough to meet his old man before I die.”

Susannah blinked. No doubt he was confident that once he got Amado in his reaches he could talk him into anything.

Tarrant was such a force of nature it was easy to forget he was dying of cancer. The disease was so advanced that his doctors had advised him to avoid debilitating treatments and to enjoy his last months—or weeks—as best he could. Already he’d outlived their predictions.

Pity trickled through her, despite her misgivings. “I don’t know if he’ll come. It was hard to persuade him to part with the sample.”

“I know you can do it. My assistant has booked you a flight to Santiago this evening. You’ll be back in Mendoza by morning.”

“But I’m supposed to fly to Johannesburg tomorrow.” She had eleven vineyard tours lined up.

His face closed over. “Johannesburg can wait.
I
can’t. You must bring him here this week. At once.”

Susannah opened her mouth to protest—then closed it again.

This was her boss. Everyone knew the company was his personal fiefdom and if he wanted her to cancel a week’s worth of carefully planned tours to go on a personal errand, she’d better do it.

“Reassure him that the visit will be worth his while.” Tarrant leaned forward, resting a gray-suited elbow on his chair. “Despite my reputation, I’m not such an egotist that I believe everyone on earth knows who I am. Tell him who I am. What I can give him.”

The emotion on his face surprised her. She was seeing another side to Tarrant Hardcastle. Under the brash tycoon exterior was a human being, fragile and insecure like everyone else. A man who wanted to meet the son he fathered before it was too late. Who maybe even craved affection and love that he’d forsaken for so long.

Her heart squeezed. She had to help him.

He grabbed her hand. “I’m a dying man. Don’t be afraid to tug at his heartstrings.” He squeezed, his bony fingertips pressing into her palm. “All men have them, despite what we’d prefer you women to believe.”

Susannah, exhausted almost to the point of collapse, pulled into the driveway of Tierra de Oro the following afternoon.

She’d rented a larger car with a bigger fuel tank as a measure of self-preservation. But the way she felt right now, if Amado’s huge white dogs wanted to eat her alive, they were quite welcome.

She hadn’t called. Tarrant had been sure the element of surprise was in her favor and she suspected he was right.

She’d jumped a foot into the air every time her phone rang in the last twenty-four hours. But Amado hadn’t called her either, despite his promise.

She parked in front of the house. Inhaled deeply. Then she summoned her last ounce of strength to tug on the door handle, and stepped out into the blinding sun.

The first thing she heard was the high-pitched keening of a woman weeping.

Uh-oh.

She approached the door, wincing at the loud crunch of her shoes on the gravel drive.

Heart pounding, she knocked. Held herself steady as footsteps approached. The tall wood-paneled door flung open.

Amado.

For a second his face was blank with shock. Then his fierce black gaze hit her like a blast from a shotgun. “You.”

She swallowed hard. “Me.”

He was taller and more imposing than she remembered. More handsome, too. His hair hung in his eyes and made him look slightly wild. Uncivilized.

“Look what you’ve done.” His fierce whisper grated on her ears. He gestured inside the house. Racking sobs filled the serene, antique-filled space. “My mother is distraught.”

A strange expression came over his face.

She’s not your mother.

She kept silent as the thought passed between them, thickening the tension in the air.

The two big white dogs appeared, sentries at Amado’s sides. Their dark eyes peered up at her as if to ask “Why?”

Susannah took a step backward, and almost fell off the steps. Amado leaped forward and pulled her roughly back up.

Then he tugged his hand away as if the bare skin of her arm had stung him like a jellyfish.

“Thank you,” she stammered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you or your family—”

His eyes narrowed. “But you had a job to do.” She could hear the controlled rage in his deep voice.

She swallowed.

Another loud wail rang through the air.

Amado forced a grim smile. Gestured into the pain-filled interior. “Why don’t you come in?”

He disappeared into the cool gloom of the house. One of the dogs shot her an accusatory look over his powerful shoulders before following obediently at his master’s heels.

Every muscle in her body itched with the urge to turn and flee. But her parents had taught her to cope with tough situations, not run from them.

Susannah inhaled a shaky breath and stepped inside.

Clara Alvarez sat on the sofa, head in her hands. Sobs racked her solid body.

“Mama.” Amado spoke softly.

“I’m not your mother.” Her meaty hands muffled the tear-thickened words. “I shouldn’t have played a part in this charade. God will curse me. I deserve to suffer.” Her fresh howl of pain ripped a hole in Susannah’s gut.

What on earth had happened here thirty-one years ago?

Amado shook his head.

“She’s so upset. My father has ridden off into the mountains. He won’t speak to anyone.”

He strode across the room, and Susannah followed, hoping to get out of earshot of the distraught Clara. Tension hummed in the air, and in her own anxious body. The
estancia
’s tranquil, nurturing atmosphere had been shattered. Possibly forever.

“Can we go out on the terrace?” she whispered.

Amado frowned at her, but opened the door and ushered her out.

The sun glared at them over jagged mountain peaks that suddenly looked like the teeth of a giant saw.

Susannah steadied herself. The situation really couldn’t get any worse. Now seemed as good a time as any to blurt out her request. “Your real father wants you to come to New York.”

“My
real father.”
The words tore from Amado’s lips like a foul curse. “How can you say that? A strange man who cared nothing for me. Who abandoned me to fate. Now he seeks to claim me for reasons of his own and doesn’t care whose life he ruins in the process.”

“He’s very sorry for how he treated his lost children.” Susannah twisted her hands together.

“Lost? I wasn’t lost. I was at home here in Tierra de Oro.” Pain shone in his eyes. “The estate has passed from father to son, for six generations. Now the chain is broken because my father has no son.”

He broke off and stared out at the mountains.

The acres of lush vineyards sprawled in a rich, striped carpet below them. The grapes no doubt growing and ripening, regardless of the human drama inside the house.

Susannah could hardly bring herself to look at Amado’s strained profile. “I don’t understand. Who was Marisa Alvarez?”

He didn’t turn to face her. “Marisa Alvarez was my sister.”

Susannah’s hand flew to her mouth. “A sister? I didn’t know you had one.”

“Why would you? She’s been dead for thirty years.” Now he turned. His dark gaze burned her. “And she wasn’t my sister at all.”

Susannah blinked, sure anything she could say would be worse than nothing. She couldn’t make sense of what he was saying.

She wanted to offer him something, maybe even a reassuring hand. But his rigid posture and proud expression prevented her.

She could still remember the powerful sensation of being held in his strong arms. Lying in his bed, suffused with pleasure and spent tension, more relaxed than she’d ever been in her life.

That felt like a lifetime ago.

“Marisa, my sister, lived a quiet life here at Tierra de Oro. Her mother—Ignacio’s first wife—died in childbirth, so she was raised by her widowed father.”

He glanced at her. “I knew all this. What I didn’t know is that, when Marisa was seventeen, she grew tired of being sheltered and protected by her father. After spending a summer studying art in Mendoza, and secretly earning money from selling her paintings, she ran away to New York.”

Chapter Eight

S
usannah blew out a breath. It was starting to make sense.

“My father,” he raised an eyebrow, “or should I say Ignacio, knows little about this part of her life. But she stayed there for over a year and during that time she met Tarrant Hardcastle.”

His words dripped with venom at the name.

“And they had an affair,” Susannah whispered.

“Yes. And she got pregnant. At which point he told her to get rid of it or he was done with her.”

Susannah winced.

Amado blew out a hard breath and shook his head. “Of course she couldn’t do that. She was raised Catholic.” Pain tightened the lines of his face. “And she didn’t dare tell her father. So she stayed in New York. She went through the pregnancy alone, and had the baby by herself.”

He turned and paced along the length of the terrace. His broad shoulders pulled the cloth of his shirt taut. “She died giving birth, just as her own mother had done eighteen years earlier.”

“Oh, no.” Susannah felt tears spring to her eyes.

“She died alone, afraid to seek help in a strange country where she had no true friends.” The horror of the situation was written all over his face. “And because her
lover
had abandoned her.”

He laid a fist on the terrace wall. Tension hardened every muscle in his body. “Someone, a neighbor, heard her—she must have been in terrible pain. They called an ambulance that was able to save the baby, but it was already too late for Marisa.”

His chest rose and fell beneath his shirt. Fresh tears glittered in his eyes. “They found her address in Argentina somewhere in her possessions and called Ignacio to the hospital to claim the baby.” He stared at her. “They’d already called Tarrant Hardcastle and he disavowed all responsibility.”

“That’s terrible.” Susannah could barely manage to get out the words. They were so inadequate to the horror of the situation. It was hard to imagine even Tarrant Hardcastle being cold and cruel enough to abandon a tiny, helpless, motherless baby.

It dawned on her like a clap of thunder that Amado was that baby.

Hot tears rolled over her cheeks.

Amado frowned. “Why are you crying? Surely you knew all this.”

“I didn’t know anything.” The words came out on a whine. “I’m so, so sorry. I can’t believe that Tarrant...” A sob cracked her voice.

“My
real father
.” He blew out a snort of disgust. “I curse the ground he walks on.”

“I don’t blame you.” Susannah bit her lip. How on earth could she convince Amado to come back to New York with her now? She didn’t even want to.

He inhaled deeply. “So Ignacio brought me back to Tierra de Oro. He didn’t want me to suffer the shame of illegitimacy so he quickly married his longtime housekeeper, Clara. They told people Marisa had died in a car accident.”

“I see.” That explained how Clara came into the picture. “I’d think people would put two and two together, what with Marisa suddenly disappearing and a new baby arriving.”

“My father said they pretended to have married earlier, but kept it secret because of the scandal of him marrying a servant.” He snorted. “Substituting a petty piece of gossip for a real one.”

He shook his head, looking out at the mountains. “Who knows, maybe everyone around here has known for years. But I didn’t.” He tapped his fist to his chest. “Thirty years on this earth, and it never crossed my mind that I was anyone but the son of Clara and Ignacio Alvarez.”

“Your father, I mean, Ignacio, told you all this?” If it was awkward for her to figure out what to call him, she could barely imagine how Amado must feel.

“Yes. And I got angry. Very angry.” He fixed his gaze on the horizon. “How could he lie to me for so long?” The question rang with his pain and confusion.

Susannah wished she could think of something to say but her brain still buzzed with amazement at the strange situation.

He blew out a long breath. “And now he’s ridden off into the hills and Clara is inconsolable.”

Susannah was sweating inside her thin dress. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

Amado turned to her with a fierce expression. “Why should you be sorry? You’re just doing your job.” Anger curled in his voice, but once he looked at her, his gaze softened.

Her own distress must have been written all over her face. “You had no choice. With a jerk like that for a boss, you’d be fired if you didn’t jump when he snapped his fingers.”