Heiress (52 page)

"No." He wasn't about to let her out of the invitation so easily.

"Look—" she began, barely controlling anger, only to be interrupted by the old man who came shuffling up behind her.

"Good. You have found her." He laid a gnarled and age-spotted hand on Eden's shoulder. "We were worried about you, child. How many times has your momma told you not to run off like that, eh?"

Abbie was irritated that Ben should pick this minute to arrive, but he was so relieved to find Eden with her that it was difficult for her to be angry with him. Yet she had to make him aware of the situation. "You remember Ben Jablonski, don't you, Mr. Wilder." As Ben stared at MacCrea, Abbie saw him appear flustered and unsure for the first time.

"Of course. Hello, Ben. It's good to see you again." MacCrea stepped forward to shake hands with him.

Ben glanced questioningly at her. Abbie gave a faint shake of her head to let him know that, as yet, MacCrea did not know her secret. "How do you do, Mr. Wilder." Stiffly Ben shook his hand.

"He wants to see Windstorm, Ben." Eden turned excitedly to Abbie. "Now that Ben's here, we can take him to our barn now, can't we, Mommy?"

Abbie longed to tape her daughter's mouth shut. Failing that, she appealed to MacCrea, hoping that he'd stop being stubborn and accept the fact that she didn't want him around at all. "We wouldn't want to take up your time uselessly, Mr. Wilder."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Very well, we'll show you the horse." She was unwilling to create a scene with Eden looking on, and she realized that MacCrea knew that. The alternative was to get this over with as quickly as possible. She swung Eden to the ground. "You're too heavy to carry."

"She can ride on my shoulders," MacCrea offered.

"No." She refused too quickly and tried to temper it, knowing that she couldn't risk MacCrea being that close to Eden. "It'll do her good to walk and burn up some of that energy." She pushed Eden at Ben. "We'll follow you and Ben. Be sure and hold tight to his hand."

As Eden skipped alongside Ben to take the lead, Abbie fell in with MacCrea. But she couldn't look at him. She couldn't even breathe. She had never guessed seeing him again would be so painful. In so many ways, he looked the same as she remembered. Maybe his face looked harder, carved by a few more lines. But the lazy smile was the same, and that charm that both mocked and challenged.

She'd been terrified when she'd seen him holding Eden—terrified that he'd somehow found out she was his daughter and intended to take Eden away from her. Even now she was frightened by the thought. And that fear was stronger than any other feelings seeing him had aroused.

"We sorta skipped all the pleasantries," MacCrea said as they walked out of the stallion barn into the brilliant Arizona sunlight. "Maybe we should start over. How are you, Abbie?"

"Married."

"So I heard. Is your husband here with you?"

"No." The last thing she wanted to discuss with MacCrea was her farce of a marriage. "He's at home. It's a busy time at the farm. He couldn't get away." She felt as if she was sitting astride a horse with a hump in its back—all tense and waiting for it to explode in a bucking spree, not knowing when it was going to happen or which way it would jump first, but knowing it was coming and knowing she had to be ready for it or she'd end up being thrown.

Eden turned around and said, "That's our barn, isn't it, Mommy? That's where Windstorm is staying, isn't it?"

"Yes, honey."

"Wait until you see him, MacCrea. He's the most beautiful horse there ever was," she declared.

"His name is Mr. Wilder, Eden." Abbie couldn't bear to hear her daughter address him so familiarly.

"She can call me MacCrea. I don't mind."

"I do. And I'll thank you not to interfere when I'm correcting my daughter," Abbie retorted.

Quickening her steps, Abbie crossed the last few yards of sand and entered the dark shade of the barn's interior ahead of MacCrea. Ben released Eden's hand and she ran ahead to a stall a third of the way down on the left side. "Windstorm, we're back. And we've brought you a visitor."

In spite of herself, Abbie smiled when she saw the stallion lift his head and nicker at the child running toward his stall. In her opinion, Windstorm was as close to perfection as an horse she'd ever seen, but of all his attributes, she considered his gentle spirit to be the most precious.

While the stallion had all the fire and flash of an Arabian, it seemed to come from a joy of life and a love of freedom rather than from any sense of wildness. And every one of his first crop of foals out of grade mares had inherited not only a lot of his look but also his disposition, including one out of a dam that was notoriously ill-tempered. The real test of any sire was his ability to pass many of his good traits on to his get. Abbie had the feeling that she was the owner of just such a prepotent stallion.

Abbie walked over to the stall to admire her stallion, something she was unashamed to admit she never tired of doing. At five years, Windstorm had grayed out to an almost pure white, with only a few streaks of silver-gray still visible in his long mane and tail. The blackness of his skin was revealed in the darkness of his muzzle and around his eyes, making them seem even larger.

"How's my man?" Abbie crooned as the stallion lowered his head to let her scratch his favorite place, just below the ear.

"I knew you had to have one in your life," MacCrea murmured, his voice coming from directly behind her. She hadn't realized he was so close, but a quick backward glance confirmed he stood mere inches away.

Her heart started pounding so loudly she couldn't hear anything else. Somehow she knew that all she had to do was turn around and face him, and she would once more feel his arms around her and know again the excitement of his kiss. That was all it would take—just one move on her part, one silent invitation. And some traitorous part of her soul wanted her to make it.

But Abbie wouldn't let herself be fooled into loving him again. Instead she stepped sideways, moving well away from him. "You were so interested in seeing my stallion, Mr. Wilder, go ahead and take a good look." She was surprised at how calm her voice sounded, considering the way she was shaking inside.

As MacCrea stepped up to the stall, Eden clambered atop the bales of straw next to him so she could see over the wooden partition. "Isn't he beautiful?" she declared. "I saw him the night he was born. There was an awful storm, and the wind blew and blew. That's how he got his name, Windstorm."

MacCrea frowned. "You must have been awfully small yourself."

"I was a little baby," she admitted. "But Mommy says I laughed and laughed when I saw him 'cause I was so happy about it." When the stallion affectionately nuzzled the top of her head, Eden grabbed his nose and pulled his head down, then lovingly rubbed a chiseled cheek. "Stop it, you silly boy," she scolded, then said to MacCrea, "See how you can see all his veins. That means he's dry. That's a good thing."

"You certainly know a lot about horses."

"I do," she agreed. "I have a pony of my very own. His name is JoJo. You'd like him, too."

Watching the two of them, with their heads so close together, Abbie wondered how MacCrea could fail to see the resemblance. To her, it was much too obvious: the dark, wavy hair, the full, thick eyebrows, the same chin and mouth. And the hands—Abbie caught the faint curling of Eden's little fingers as she fondled the stallion's head. She couldn't let him find out. She just couldn't.

"Eden, come down from there." She had to separate them, get Eden far away from MacCrea.

"But—"

"Don't argue with me. Just do as you're told. You've bent Mr. Wilder's ear long enough." As Eden reluctantly scrambled off the bales, Abbie caught hold of her hand and led her over to Ben. "Take her to the car and I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

"Good-bye, Mac—Mr. Wilder." Eden half turned to wave to him.

"'Bye, Eden. I'll see you again sometime."

Something snapped inside her, releasing all the emotions she'd been holding so tightly in check. They swamped her as she swung around to face MacCrea. "No, you won't! You leave my daughter alone. Leave me alone."

She knew her voice had quavered badly, but she wasn't aware of the sudden rush of tears into her eyes until MacCrea cupped the side of her face in his hand and wiped away a tear with his thumb. "You're crying, Abbie. Why?" The gentleness of his voice, the concern in it, almost proved to be her undoing. She longed to lose herself in the touch of his hand.

But she couldn't. Neither could she answer him. Instead she pulled away from him and pivoted toward the stall, turning her back on him. She hadn't dreamed that after all this time—after all he'd done to her—she could still be so physically attracted to him. Why was her psyche so twisted that she kept loving men she couldn't trust?

"You haven't forgotten either, have you?" MacCrea asked.

"I never tried," she lied.

"Will you have dinner with me tonight. . . for old time's sake? You can bring your daughter and Ben along if it will make you feel safer," he mocked gently, confidently.

"The only 'old times' I'm interested in are the ones where you were gone. Why don't you arrange for that to happen again?"

"Hold it. You were the one who walked out," he reminded her tersely.

His anger gave her the control she needed to face him once more. "I was, wasn't I? I guess I just didn't like the way you used people."

"You accuse me of using people. What about you? Or don't you want to admit the real reason you married that farmer? You don't love him. You only married him to get your hands on land that originally belonged to your family."

"I don't have to ask who told you that. So why don't you go find Rachel? She's the one you came here to see anyway."

"I'm here to meet Lane."

"Then go find him. But stay away from me." She walked off briskly, her throat tight and a dull ache in her heart. It hurt more than she cared to admit that she hadn't guessed wrong. MacCrea was here to see Lane and Rachel.

Chapter 34

With a nod of his head, MacCrea absently acknowledged the hotel maid's greeting as he walked down the wide corridor to the double doors of the suite at the end. He knocked twice and waited, gnawed by the restlessness that had been eating at him since he'd left the showgrounds.

"Who is it?" The thick doors muffled the woman's voice, but he still recognized it as Rachel's.

"MacCrea Wilder." He still wasn't sure why he was there—why he hadn't headed straight for the airport and boarded the first plane out of Phoenix. Maybe he just didn't want Abbie to have the satisfaction of driving him out of town.

The security chain rattled a half-second before the left door swung open to admit him. Rachel moved away from it as he stepped inside. Her high heels made almost no sound on the thick carpet as she crossed to an oval mirror on the wall.

"The bar is fully stocked. Help yourself." She nodded in the direction of the paneled bar located in the corner of the suite's spacious sitting room.

"Thanks. I think I will." MacCrea tossed his hat on a rose-colored chair as he walked over to the bar and poured himself a glass of Chivas and water. "Where's Lane?"

"He's still in Houston." She removed an earring from the jewelry case on the side table in front of her and held it up to her ear.

MacCrea stopped with the glass halfway to his mouth. "He told me he was going to be here."

"I know. We were supposed to fly in together. But Alex has a bad case of the sniffles and Lane was afraid to leave him. You know how he dotes on his son."

Unconsciously MacCrea crooked an eyebrow at the hard, clipped edge of resentment in her voice, and the almost total lack of concern she expressed for her son. It was in such contrast to Abbie and her highly protective attitude toward her daughter.

"You don't sound worried about him." He sipped at his drink, studying her thoughtfully over the rim of the glass.

"Naturally I'm concerned when he's ill, but it isn't as if he's being left alone. Mrs. Weldon is a registered nurse. She is more than qualified to look after him. But Lane doesn't see it that way. Alex is his son."

"He's your son, too," MacCrea reminded her.

"Is he?" The words seemed to slip out. She attempted to cover them with a forced laugh. "Can you imagine a child of mine being terrified of horses? When he was two and three years old he used to scream his head off if one came within five feet of him. No, Alex is very much Daddy's boy."

"It won't always be that way."

"I wish I could believe that." She sighed heavily, suddenly no longer trying to mask her feelings. "You know that old saying, MacCrea, 'Two's company and three's a crowd'? I'm the one who makes it a crowd."

She looked so lonely and vulnerable that MacCrea couldn't help feeling a little sorry for her. "Lane does love you."

"Yes." Her mouth twisted in a smile that wasn't very pretty. "I'm the mother of his child. And that's a poor reason to love a woman, MacCrea." After trying on several earrings, she finally chose a pair of Harry Winston diamond-studded Burmese sapphires and clipped them onto her ears, then removed the matching diamond and sapphire necklace from the jewelry case.

"I suppose." But her comment made him wonder about other things—like the possibility that Abbie loved Dobie because he was the father of her child.

"When did you arrive?" She looped the necklace around her neck and fastened the clasp.

"About three or four hours ago. I figured I'd find you and Lane at the showgrounds, so I went there to look for you first. I ran into Abbie." He wasn't sure why he had told Rachel that. He hadn't intended to mention his meeting with her.

"I heard she was here." The icy-sharp bite to her voice left little room for doubt about her feelings toward Abbie. Not that MacCrea had expected her animosity toward her to have mellowed in any way over the years.

"Have you seen her stallion?"

"Oh, yes." She laughed shortly, with more bitterness than humor. "She's made sure I have."