Secrets and Lace (Lonely Lace #2) Page 2

Chapter 3

  Amelia had never been so relieved to pull into Lonely River’s drive.

  Fighting back tears of frustration and longing, she parked then unbuckled Mac from his car seat. “Come on, honey, we need to get inside. It’s starting to get cold again.” The winds had picked up and the sun had decided to disappear behind angry clouds in a cruel game of hide-and-seek.

  Heat from the warm driveway caressed her ankles but dissipated before it found her bare calves. Radiant heating had to be the best invention ever.

  She’d undressed for Robbie. Again. Who cares that it was for the sake of her car? Who cares that he hadn’t even noticed that he’d pretty much held her underwear in his hands, or something close to it… okay, she was making a jump, but she’d pulled off her nylons and handed them to him and he hadn’t even blinked!

  Dang him!

  “Mommy, wait.” Mac pumped his free arm back and forth as he struggled to keep up with her long strides.

  Contrite, Amelia slowed to match the child’s shorter steps. “I’m sorry, Mac. Mommy was just thinking.” And fuming. And plotting someone’s death! Okay, not really, but oh he made her so mad.

  “About Uncle Slate? On the new horse? I like that horse. Will he let me ride him?” Mac gazed up at her as they crossed the blacktop to the house. “He looked different.”

  “Who looked different?” Amelia glanced at her son, eyebrows pulled tight. “What new horse? When did you see Uncle Slate?” She shifted her purse which doubled as a snack holder higher on her shoulder with her free hand, repositioning Mac’s smaller one in hers.

  “He helped us with the car, Mom, remember?” Mac raised his blue eyes to focus on her as they reached the steps.

  “Oh, right.” Uncle Slate? How did she explain to her child that it wasn’t her uncle who’d helped him, but his father? And that his dad hadn’t wanted anything more to do with Mac? Her son had never really talked about who or where his father was. She’d taken it for granted ‘til then. How did she tell him that when he got bigger, he might hear things from the kids in school because their parents were bigots and thought she was a whore.

  Like she’d ever slept around. Hell, the only man she’d been a slut with was her illegally obtained husband.

  Part smugness softened the jerkiness to her movements. If he only knew that technically they were married, he wouldn’t be so quick to just “pass through”. It didn’t matter how long he’d been gone, Amelia still simmered with him just feet away. And she could feel his answering burn.

  “Couple more steps, Mac.” Avoiding his question didn’t make it go away, but it helped stall the onslaught of further questions an answer would certainly stir up.

  Although heavy, the door gave way with little pressure. Amelia had grown accustomed to living in the crux of luxury only a five-star bed-and-breakfast could offer. The dude ranch – Lonely River – that Slate and Robbie had created a while back had been named the classiest stay-spot east of the Rocky Mountains by Travel-Fine U.S.A.

  Any other time, she would trace her fingers over the satiny polished wood walls, admire the intricately worked wrought iron decorations, and breathe in the careful amount of pine scent mixed with cedar to make a person’s senses feel outside while being in. The ambience would calm her, steady her.

  Instead she tossed her purse toward her bedroom and slammed the front door behind them. She sighed and tugged her son with her to their suite. She’d be lucky, if he’d sleep for just a little bit and she’d be extremely grateful for just a few minutes of quiet.

  “Okay, Mr. Mac. It’s nap time.” Amelia motioned for the boy to come closer so she could take his jacket. “Kick off your shoes. I’ll get you a drink of water and then you need to get into bed, okay?”

  After the promised drink, she left the light off in the conjoining bathroom between their rooms and mama-beared him through the doorway into his bed. Over his whining, she answered firmly, “You just had surgery, Mac. This isn’t a joke. Okay? Take a little nap and then we’ll go check on Pig.”

  The mention of Slate’s stallion brought a smile to Mac’s face and he bounded into bed, curling on his side. “Thanks, Mom. I like you.”

  Amelia grinned. “I like you, too.”

  For the four-year-old saying like instead of love was a whole lot more important. She’d asked him about it once and his answer had been, “I always love you, but sometimes, I don’t like you. Like when I have to go into timeout.”

  Being told he liked her meant a lot and they both understood that.

  Amelia stepped out of Mac’s room, leaving the door open enough to let a little light in from the sitting area.

  Squeezing the nape of her neck, she let the pull of the kitchen guide her course. The ache between her shoulders spread up beneath her hairline and she rolled her head from side to side. Robbie. He’d never brought her anything but pain. And stress. And fun times. And laughter. Okay, enough, thinking about it. He wasn’t around right then, she didn’t need to dwell on him.

  She shrugged off the memory of him by the side of the road, asking for her nylons. Her nylons! Of course it wasn’t anything sexual or meaningful, but her mind had run that direction faster than she could hold it back.

  Could anyone blame her? She hadn’t been held by a man taller than three feet in four years. A woman has needs.

  “Slate? Are you in here?” She crossed into the kitchen, spying the silhouette of her housemate in the breakfast nook as he relaxed on the couch. “Oh, great. You are. So, you’ll never guess who I just ran into.”

  A croissant nested with a half-dozen other baked goods, calling her name. She picked up the treat and nibbled from its flaky edges absently, remembering everything Robbie had said and done. “Your brother.” She sighed, looking toward the window. “I don’t know. It was like he’d never left or maybe like we’d never been together?” She waited for his comment. He always supported her, no matter what ideas she had. Sometimes he just let her vent which was invaluable in a friend.

  He tapped the back of the couch with a free hand stretched along the cushions.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bombard you with this. Has he still not contacted you?” Amelia rounded the corner and stepped down into the separate eating area. Sitting across from him, she took a napkin to set the croissant on. After she settled in, she looked up and froze.

  His half-smile screamed arrogance. Robbie rested a wrist on his lap. “You know, that’s twice I’ve been mistaken by women for my brother.” He spat the latter like a cuss word. “What are you doing here?”

  Pressing her hand to her chest, Amelia glared. “Me? I live here. Why are you here?”

  His laugh curled around his words, filling them with bitterness instead of joy. “No. I live here, Amelia. You just…” He looked her up and down, derision rich in his expression. “What are you doing here? Sleeping with my brother? Is he that kid’s father?”

  Thrusting from the sofa, Amelia sputtered, black blurring her vision as rage overwhelmed her. “How dare you? You haven’t lived here in four years. Four years, you jackass. Four years.” Tears flooded and spilled over her cheeks. She dashed them away, angry at her weakness. “You. Left!”

  Unable to remain in that room, that close to him, with so many questions and pain between them but too emotional to resolve anything, Amelia spun on her heel and raced to the hallway.

  But not fast enough. Robbie grasped her shoulder and whirled her to face him, pinning her against the wall beside the door. His familiar scent washed over her, leather, and cologne. The smell thrust her back to the night they’d conceived Mac, unnerving her. Putting her in her place.

  Cheek to cheek, the rough scratch of his stubble as he spoke was as distracting as his solid forearm holding her to the wall. “You know why I left…” His blue gaze roved her face, landing hungrily on her lips.

  She couldn’t stop from licking them, nerves twisting in her stomach. She couldn’t do more than offer a jagged plea. “Why are you back?”

  He
jerked his gaze from her mouth to her eyes. The side of his jaw ticked when he clenched it. She ached to touch the soft spot beneath his ear.

  “Why am I back?” Robbie’s skin scorched her through the thin material of her shirt.

  Amelia’s breathing shallowed. “Of course, more questions. Never answers with you.” She wiggled her hips and shoulders to escape but only succeeded in tightening his hold. He pressed his body against hers.

  Robbie’s eyes darkened. A deep timbre from her memories edged his tone. “Stop.”

  Like he’d popped a hole in her anger, Amelia deflated, slumping into his support, holding his gaze. She’d missed him. As many times as she’d imagined him back in front of her – pushed against him and so aware of his nearness had been the scenarios she’d saved for the dark loneliness of her nights.

  The intense blue of his gaze melted her resolve. He’d abandoned her for hell’s sake. Even the long, jagged scar lurking beneath his dark-as-sin stubble only added to the longing in her gut.

  A door opened and closed.

  Amelia blinked.

  Then she blinked again. And again. But couldn’t break his dang spell.

  Robbie could… and did. He disconnected, pushing away and looking down the hall.

  Amelia turned away, breathing deep and running her hands down her face.

  He’d never answered.

  Of course, why would he? He hadn’t bothered to give her a reason then, why would he explain himself now?

  Chapter 4

  The last thing Robbie was prepared to discuss with Amelia of all people was why he was back. His return must have put a tight crimp in the love-affair between her and Slate.

  Robbie couldn’t put anything together. Nothing made sense.

  Amelia lived with Slate, in Robbie’s house, okay, a house he and his brother co-owned for a business. She had a son that had similar coloring to the MacAllister line – but hey, everyone in the town of Colby had Irish genes. Slate seemed to have something going on the side with the small town doctor, leading her along. Maybe Slate… No, nothing made sense. None of the pieces worked together. No matter how hard Robbie tried to maneuver them in his head.

  Coming down the hall, the hot doctor from Robbie’s past nodded at them, carrying a handful of grocery bags. She passed them in the hall to the kitchen.

  “Hey, is Slate around?” Doctor O’Donald grunted as she lifted the bags to the island. “I tried calling a while ago, but didn’t get an answer. Brought dinner out. You guys hungry?” Her green eyes slid side to side and she stopped in front of the sink. Comfortable in the kitchen, Doctor O’Donald seemed at home in the large ranch. Something Robbie deeply envied.

  Amelia turned to face the new woman, her eyes bright. When had she started lifting her hands when she spoke? “I think he’s outside? But I’m not sure. I didn’t see his rig when I drove in.” She smiled, but avoided Robbie, brushing past him. “Excuse me. I need to check on Mac.”

  He couldn’t hold back regret at being interrupted. What would I have said? Done? One more inch and he could’ve seared the pain of the last four years with the heat of her mouth. Heaven knows he wanted that more than anything.

  Robbie cleared his throat. Discomfort a foreign sensation when he didn’t give a damn. At least, he didn’t want to. “So, Doc, tell me where I know you from. Why are you so familiar?” But he knew.

  How could he forget? He’d gambled away more than he’d had and ended up in some Podunk town in rural Washington surrounded by pine trees and snow. Always snow. And Revenge had been starving. When Robbie had rolled into the clinic they’d been about to close. The severity of his injuries had convinced them to stay open just a little bit longer. Plus, he’d never have made it to the nearest hospital. Not alive anyway.

  The doctor had returned his shoulder to its rightful place. Stitched up quite a few cuts as well. He’d been too drunk to acknowledge the pain but not drunk enough that he didn’t compare every trait of hers with Amelia’s. Like always. And not so drunk he couldn’t remember making several passes at her when he really just wanted to say thank you.

  His query would serve to see how much she’d leave in the past and how much she’d make him suffer over. Because living through it once hadn’t been hell enough, right?

  O’Donald crossed her arms over her chest. She arched her eyebrow. “Okay. I’ll play your game. Why, yes, Mr. McAllister, you do seem familiar. I can’t quite put my finger on where I know you from.”

  He didn’t hide his grin. “So, you’re Slate’s, huh?” Robbie sauntered closer, herding her into the kitchen. He preferred other people’s discomfort over his own and coming on aggressively to women seemed to up the tension more than anything else.

  The good doc braced her arms on the counter and stared him down. She didn’t move or give under his advance.

  He shifted his feet. He hadn’t been looked at like that since his mother and the way the doctor pegged him with her gaze, like she could read deep inside him, see what he dreamt and feared, gave her the edge he resented.

  She sighed, releasing him from the stare but pinning him with a new, almost knowing look. “I’m on your side. But don’t lie to me. It won’t help anything.” But she didn’t look away and Robbie’s shoulder started to throb as if it too wanted in on the game.

  He considered denying the memory but to do so meant she’d always have something to hold over him. Which he’d never allow. He nodded jerkily. “Yeah. I remember. You fixed my shoulder.”

  “No, I just popped it back in. My guess is you’re still having problems with it. Maybe you can’t swing that arm properly? I told you to get into a primary care doctor and have studies done for follow-up. Have you had it looked at?” The doctor busied her hands at the sink, taking the angry tension from the air. “Slate mentioned feeling stiff in that same shoulder a few times. Could it be bugging you that bad?”

  Her comment took him aback. Slate had mentioned their connection? Robbie and his twin had always joked about their ability to feel the other’s pain, sometimes one would hurt himself during a fight or something just so the other one felt the pain, too. They’d never told anyone until Robbie had mentioned it to Amelia one night. Slate had never told anyone.

  She stopped prepping the chicken she’d pulled from a bag and studied him. “I’d love to do some tests, if you two are ever interested in seeing how far this twin-telekinesis thing goes. I’m curious to see if it’s partial to pain or if there’s a specific range of emotions and senses that you can share.” She trimmed another breast, careful with her hands and keeping an eye on him as well.

  “Yeah, sure, whatever.” He wasn’t a lab rat, but he didn’t know what her agenda was. He still hadn’t pegged her motivations, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit his own interest in the phenomenon.

  “I promise not to poke you with red hot sticks or electrocute you… much.” She winked and sliced another thick chunk of meat.

  Was she going to ignore the other issue? Let it be or bring it up later? He hadn’t felt so trapped in a long time. Not that she could do anything to him. He owned the place, but still. If his brother was into the woman, Robbie needed to make sure he cleared the air with her and not leave any questions between them. Not only that, but he refused to let anyone have the power to make him squirm.

  Until Robbie talked with Slate about Amelia, the kid, the ranch, and the doctor… not to mention the other issues stalking Robbie, he’d do best to stick with his normal forthright cockiness.

  But how did he start? Sorry, I tried grabbing your breast? The hand on the butt was because… He narrowed his eyes. “I think I need to explain about the shit you’re not bringing up.”

  She dried her hands on a towel and moved toward him, hand on her hip. “Okay. Tell me how you were drunk or on medication. Go ahead. And once you’re done, I’ll call your BS. Maybe then you’ll understand why I’m trying to be gracious and let those actions stay in the past.”

  Robbie jerked his head back. She wasn’t
afraid of him in the slightest. That fact was more than a little annoying. “Why is it BS? I could have been drugged up. I was in a hospital or whatever.”

  She shook her head, watching him. “No. I was your doctor. You refused meds. Remember? And you hadn’t been drinking – at least not enough that you’d lost your head. You had just gotten off work. Or so you claimed. Don’t try your crap with me, Robbie McAllister. I don’t know you, but I remember the games you tried that night and you weren’t even really into it. Whatever you’re chasing, you’re not going to get it by hitting on the closest thing with tits.” Her cheeks flushed pink at the topic, but she didn’t back down. “Not only that, but I think you had your ass handed to you and you were just afraid to admit it. Psh. Fell off a horse, my butt.” She shook her head, focusing again on the dinner filling the kitchen with Italian aromas.

  Slate had fire in that woman. Robbie held up his hand to hopefully temper the doctor while she held a sharp knife. “You’re right. Do you think it’d be fair to just call it even and maybe forget that night?” He ignored his internal dialogue to tell her to screw off. He didn’t need anyone telling him what to do, let alone an annoying-ass woman. But he offered the truce because for some reason, he liked her. She’d been honest and blunt with him at the clinic before and she didn’t dull the edges now.

  O’Donald considered him for a moment, watching him like a kindergarten teacher inspecting her class. “I’d like that, but only if you get into the clinic and let me take a look at that shoulder. The chronic damage could develop further.” She waved her hands toward the door. “I’m making dinner, like I said. You are definitely invited to enjoy it.” She flashed a friendly smile and shooed him from the room. “I need to cook.” Like his mom.

  He ambled down the hall, his well-worn boots scuffing softly on the wooden floor. It’d been so long since he’d been home. And it was home. Even the smells hadn’t changed from the well-oiled cedar and pine to the rich aromas of dinner cooking.

  The aches and pains from the last week or so crept up on him with his waning adrenaline and he rolled his shoulders. Nothing left to do until he could speak with Slate, Robbie decided to check on Revenge. Taking care of his horse seemed the best bet at that point.