Last Bridge Home (12 page)

“Yes, and I knew it myself the minute they showed me the video tapes of you.” He went on calmly, “I don’t always agree with genetic
pairing, but in our case it couldn’t be more right”

“Please. It
hurts
, dammit.” She turned to the door. “I’d rather you told me nothing than to listen to you make up fairy tales. I trusted you. I think I even—” She broke off. She couldn’t speak without weeping, and she would not cry. She tore open the door, and ran up the stairs. Crazy. Everything was topsyturvy, and there was nothing good and true to hold onto in the entire world.

She had to return to reality. She had to re turn to Andrew. Yet, according to Jon, Andrew was the center of the madness. No, she wouldn’t believe it. Andrew was her son, Mark’s son. Dear, and beautiful, and infinitely sweet. She felt a strong impulse to look at him, hold him, reassure herself that Jon’s words were pure fabrication.

When she opened the door of Andrew’s nursery, she saw Gunner sitting in the chair across from Andrew’s makeshift crib, with her son cradled in his arms. It always amazed her how completely at ease Gunner looked holding the infant. Virile, tough, and totally masculine, he still handled her baby with the gentleness and instinctive understanding of a loving and skillful nursemaid. He looked up now, a sunny smile on his face. “Hi. He began to cry, so I rocked him to back to sleep. Once we’re settled
we’re going to have to get a superdeluxe rocking chair.” He stood up and carried the baby back to his crib.

She stood looking at him helplessly. It seemed impossible that Gunner also had deceived her. He was her friend. Over the last weeks she had become closer to him than any one she had ever known except Mark and Jon.

He settled Andrew back in his crib, and Elizabeth found the tenderness in his action poignantly moving. “You know, babies have such wonderfully simple minds. They feel hunger, love, anger. No complications. I guess that’s why I enjoy them so much.” He didn’t take his gaze from Andrew’s face. “Are you very upset?”

“Yes.”

“He told you everything?”

“He told me a bunch of convoluted fairy tales.”

“Then he told you everything. I suppose you’re angry with us?”

“You had no business …” Oh, what was the use, she thought. “You’re damn right I’m an gry.”

He raised his eyes to look at her gravely. “When you get over your first bout of anger, you might consider how hard it was for Jon to play out this charade. Jon is the head of the Clanad and he could have sent anyone to care
for you and Andrew. He wields more power than you can possibly imagine. He chose to come himself.” He added simply, “He chose you.”

“Not you too,” Elizabeth said wearily. “This insanity must be contagious.” She crossed to the chest on the other side of the room and opened the top drawer. “Well, I’m not going to let either one of you infect my son.” She took out two small woolen squares that Gunner had cut from a full-size blanket and tossed them on a chair. “Andrew and I will be saying adieu to your Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. And I wouldn’t try to stop me, if I were you.”

“It’s not my place to make any decisions regarding you and Andrew. That’s strictly Jon’s prerogative. He’s been very patient. But don’t try his patience too far, Elizabeth. The genes that make him a brilliant leader also give him a very short fuse.”

“I’m getting very tired of all this talk about genes,” Elizabeth said curtly. “And my own fuse is nonexistent at the moment. Tell Jon to have the pickup truck in front of the lodge in fifteen mintues. I want it warmed up and ready to go. I won’t have Andrew exposed to the cold.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His lips twitched. “Though I can’t vouch for Jon’s reaction to your command. I don’t believe anyone has ever asked
him to be a parking valet before. Remind me to tell you about the province he ruled in Garvania sometime.”

“I’m not in the mood for your fables, Gunner. However, I’m definitely in the mood for a good old-fashioned rhubarb. If the truck’s not ready when I come downstairs, that’s exactly what the two of you are going to get.” Her gaze was flint hard. “Understand?”

“I understand.” He saluted and turned to ward the door with a smile of amusement. “I only hope I can make Jon understand.”

When Elizabeth came out on the deck twenty minutes later, the truck was waiting.

The exhaust tossed clouds of vapor into the cold air, and Jon stood by the cab with his hands in the pockets of his coat. His face was completely expressionless as he met her gaze. “The gas tank is full. You shouldn’t have to stop.”

“That’s good.” Why was she feeling so guilty? she wondered. She was the one who had been deceived, who was still being deceived, yet she felt as if she were deserting them.

Gunner jumped down from the cab of the truck. “I’ve installed an infant restraint seat,” he said as he climbed the steps toward her.
“You’ll find his clothes and disposable diapers behind the front seat.”

“So much for improvisation. You were obviously prepared all along.” Her flash of anger at this new evidence of deceit banished the irrational guilt she’d felt. “It must have annoyed you to have to plan all those elaborate makeshift arrangements for Andrew, just to pull the wool over my eyes.”

Gunner’s golden hair shimmered in the late afternoon sunlight as he shook his head. “I didn’t mind. It was kind of a challenge.” He took Andrew from her. “I’ll get Andrew settled comfortably in the infant seat for you.”

As he walked quickly toward the truck, she stared after him in helpless frustration. How could she remain angry when Gunner was so damnably helpful and understanding?

“Nothing has really changed, you know,” Jon said quietly, his gaze fixed shrewdly on her face. “The basic facts remain the same. Gunner and I both still love you and Andrew. We’re still the same men you’ve lived with for the past month and a half. The same men you called your family the night Andrew was born. Try to remember that, when you think about all this.”

“Everything’s changed.” She tore her gaze away from his and hurried down the steps. She
had to get away. She had to escape from all the confusion and hurt and … “Everything.”

He opened the door on the driver’s side of the truck. “There’s one other thing you should remember. You mustn’t ever doubt the love Mark felt for you.” His words were halting. “Andrew was conceived in love, Beth.” He reached into his pocket and handed her an envelope. “It’s a note from Mark. If I were you, I’d wait to read it until I could think a little more lucidly.”

She slipped the note into her pocket with out looking at it. Her throat was tight and her vision blurred. No, she mustn’t be swayed by him. “Goodbye, Jon.” She stepped up into the cab of the truck.

Gunner got out of the passenger seat, and gestured toward Andrew as he lay ensconced in the luxuriously padded restraint seat. “He should be comfortable. Check the straps later to be sure they don’t loosen.” He waved cheer fully as he shut the door.

Jon took a step nearer, his black eyes blazing fiercely in his pale face. “Mark loved you, but he didn’t love you as much as I do. No one could love you the way I do. Remember that, too, dammit.” He stepped back and slammed the door of the truck. “And for heaven’s sake, drive carefully.”

Gunner crossed to stand beside Jon. She
started the ignition and began to drive slowly down the driveway toward the road.

“You know she’s driving right into Bardot’s trap,” Gunner murmured. “I’m surprised you let her go.”

“I had to let her go.” Jon’s gaze never left the pickup truck. “She was practically shell-shocked. She needed to run away and hide until she could come to terms with everything. She needed to go … home.”

“Bardot won’t let her hide away for long. He’s bound to have the cottage under surveillance.”

“It may be long enough.” Jon turned away and began to climb the steps of the deck. “We’ve taken a hell of a lot away from her. We owe her this. Gome on, we’ve got to alert Barnett so he can put a watch on Bardot’s head quarters. I have to know when he makes his move. Then we’ll have to close up the lodge and get on the road ourselves. I don’t want to be more than an hour behind her.”

E
LIZABETH DROVE PAST THE WHITE BARN THAT
had the feed advertisement on its sloped roof.

Home. Soon. The Burma Shave signs no longer lined the road, but the familiar red silo was still visible just ahead. Thank heavens some things stayed the same, she thought. How she needed to feel a sense of continuity and tranquillity now. After she drove past the silo, and rumbled over the covered bridge, the cottage came into view.

Andrew stirred in the restraint chair, and she cast him a quick glance. She knew he had been awake for the entire journey and was pleased at how good he’d been. “It’s all right, love. We’re almost home.”

She spoke the comforting words as much for
herself as for Andrew. Everything would be fine; the pain would go away and sanity would return. All she needed was to spend time in familiar surroundings. Time had dulled her pain after her mother and father had died, it had soothed her when she had lost Mark. Surely time would work the same magic on the raw agony she was experiencing now. Jon was virtually a stranger to her after all. She should be able to forget she had almost fallen in love with him.

Almost. No, she wouldn’t lie to herself. She had loved Jon Sandell. Why else would she be going through hellish agony at the realization that he had been using her for his own purposes? Lies. So many lies and a preposterous story…

She pulled into the driveway in front of the cottage, and sighed with relief. She turned off the ignition and unstrapped Andrew from the infant seat. Home.

Forty-five minutes later Andrew was freshly diapered, fed, and comfortably settled for his nap on her big bed.

She was sorry she had completed the small tasks. When she was busy, she didn’t have time to think. Now she had nothing to do, and she was as confused as she’d been on the long drive home from the lodge.

She wandered to the window and looked down at the stream below. The water wasn’t frozen yet, but it looked icy and cold under the iron-gray sky. She shivered. Her entire world was cold now. Only a few hours before she had been surrounded by warmth and love and … No, it had been a lie.

She reached toward the switch on the wall that activated the paddle wheel and turned it on. The old oak wheel shuddered at first, and then began to turn slowly, shedding its blanket of snow as it dipped into the cold water of the stream. How Mark had loved to hear the sound of the paddles hitting the water. Mark. The letter.

She turned away from the window and picked up her navy coat which she had tossed on the rocking chair when she had walked into the room. Was the letter really from Mark, or had Jon lied about that too? she wondered. She pulled the letter out from the pocket of her coat. Her name was written in Mark’s familiar, precise script on the front of the envelope.

Oh, Lord, Mark! It was Mark’s handwriting. Unmistakably Mark’s. She felt tears sting her eyes. Her hands shook as she took the single sheet of paper from the envelope. The letter was very short, hardly more than a note.

Elizabeth could feel the tears running slowly down her cheeks. Reading his poignant note was almost as painful as losing him a second time. Yet now the pain was partially diluted by shock.

Mark was the person whose integrity she had trusted most in the world and he had said Jon’s wild story was absolutely factual. If her judgment of Mark was a true one, then she must believe what he told her was also true. But how could a sane person believe a story that was similar to the plot of a Steven Spiel berg movie?

She sank down into the rocking chair, Mark’s letter still clutched in her hand. Her mind was whirling, but she had to think. She had to try to sift out the truth from the fable. Her gaze fastened on the slow turning of the paddle wheel outside the window. The steady, deliberate rhythm soothed her as it always did, and she settled back in the chair and leaned her head on its cushioned headrest. Love. Lies. Truth. Fantasy.

For centuries her forebears had steeped themselves in healthy Yankee pragmatism, but they’d still left ample room for vision. She was a Cartwright. She possessed the same qualities herself. She had the strength to accept or reject what she chose to believe as truth. She
would sit here, and decide what she was going to do.