Susan Amarillas (3 page)

That she had no doubt about. It was the needing-him part that was grating on her already raw nerves. She needed Luke Scanlin like she needed to be trampled in a stampede, but it all came down to this: Brody was next to useless. Luke had managed to get more from the man in the past few minutes than she’d managed since last night. Andrew was out there, and if it would help her get her son back, she’d dance with the devil himself. Looking at Luke’s hypnotic black eyes, she had a sinking feeling that the dance was about to begin.

“There’s a guest room at the top of the stairs.” She gestured with her head. “I’ll have the maid show you.”

“I can track down a guest room.” He smiled, and this time he touched her shoulder, very lightly.

It was the second time he’d touched her. The second time those familiar shivers had skittered up her spine. No! She wouldn’t give in to him. Not this time. Not ever again. Needing distance, she moved away. “Third door on the left.” She fumbled with the ebony buttons on her coat. “The bed’s made, and I’ll have towels brought in when I return. The housekeeper’s been sick. She’ll be back tomorrow. My mother-in-law will be here tonight.”

Luke smiled. It was a lopsided smile, filled with enough roguish charm to melt the coldest heart. If she stood here looking at that smile much longer, her knees were going to melt, that was for certain.

“I’ll be back later.” She was reaching for the shiny brass doorknob when his hand on her shoulder turned her to face him again. His dark brows were drawn together in a frown.

“Back? What do you mean, back?
Where
are you going?”

“Out.” She made a show of tugging on her kidskin gloves while she slipped free of his touch. Darn those goose bumps.

Luke’s expression drew down. “Out? Why, for heaven’s sake? The police will be here in an hour, and then—”

“I’m going now.” She turned the knob and pulled the door partially open. The rain dripped from the roof and made noisy
plick-plops
on the wooden planks of the porch. The sudden draft felt blessedly cold against the side of her face.

“Look,” he started to say with a nod—a gesture Rebecca suspected was meant to pacify rather than to indicate agreement. He grasped the edge of the open door, holding it firmly, and looked at her in a way that was all too familiar, a way that brought better-forgotten memories rushing to the surface faster than lava in a volcano, and just as hot.

“This is crazy. We’re gonna cover the same ground in an hour.” He pushed on the door.

Rebecca held fast, as though this were a test of wills between them. Accepting help was one thing, surrender was another. This felt like giving in. “I’m going.” She pulled, and he released his hold on the door.

She slipped out and pulled the heavy oak door closed behind her. She knew he was watching her through the clear etched glass. Until thirty minutes ago, she had thought she’d closed the door on Luke Scanlin just as easily. It seemed she was wrong.

R
ebecca took the front steps in five firm strides. She was angry, and it wasn’t until the rain splattered against her cheeks that she realized she’d forgotten to take an umbrella. Clenched-jawed and angry, she kept going. She’d drown before she’d go back in there. She’d had enough of him for now. She’d had enough of him for good.

Raindrops clung to her eyelashes, and she swiped them away with the back of her gloved hand, then yanked her hood farther forward—not that it did much good. It was raining like hell. By the time she turned through the gate, her coat was soaked and the wet had penetrated through to her dress. Goose bumps were prickling across her shoulders, and a shiver was inching down her spine.

She made a sharp left turn that would have been the envy of any military cadet. Thunder rumbled, but failed to silence the steady
click-clack
of her heels on the concrete sidewalk. Her coat flopped open with each step, further drenching her dress. Nothing and no one was cooperating—not the police, not the weather, and not even the good Lord, it seemed. She cast her eyes upward. “How could you do this to me? Luke? You sent me Luke?”

With a sigh of resignation, she increased her pace, and promptly stepped in an ankle-deep puddle for her trouble.

“Thanks,” she muttered, and kept going.

She passed the Johnson mansion, four colors of clapboard and geegaws in the latest style.
Circus tent
was the thought that flashed in her mind as she paused long enough to scan the yard and porch for the third time since Andrew had disappeared. The Hogans’, next door, was more sedate—plain, white siding and blue trim, the usually pale green roof shingles now forest-dark from the rain.

A delivery wagon rumbled past, splashing her with more water. “Hey!” she hollered, but the driver kept going. So did she, scanning the yard yet again.

All the while, she kept thinking that Andrew was out here and Luke was back there. She wished it was the other way around. She wished Luke was gone—back to Texas or Wyoming or Timbuktu, anywhere but here. Part of her wanted to deny it, pretend it wasn’t true, pretend that Luke Scanlin, the man who had changed her life forever, the one man who unknowingly had the power to ruin her life, wasn’t sitting in her parlor.

She stopped still. He’d be there tonight. He’d be sleeping down the hall. He’d talk to Ruth. Oh, no! Oh, no, this wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t going to take this kind of risk, not again.

When she got home, she was going to send him packing. That was all there was to it. She didn’t have to explain or justify herself to him. In fact, the more she thought on it, the more she thought she didn’t even
need
him.

Brody’s going to find Andrew, right?

Sure. “I’ll have the men keep an eye out,” he had said. Yes, that would go a long way toward finding Andrew, she thought, her heart sinking as she faced reality.

Okay, so Brody was unreliable. Luke’s take-charge attitude obviously was going to get the job done, she admitted—only to herself, and only because she was alone.

Since she was admitting things, she’d also admit she should have stayed at the house, should have waited for the search parties he was organizing. And yes, dammit, she was grateful for his help.

A smile tickled her lips. It had been something to see, watching Luke put that pompous Brody in his place. One side of her mouth actually curved upward in a sort of smile—not a real one, though. She wouldn’t give Luke that much.

Water splashed and soaked up her stockings as she stepped off the curb and crossed the street.
What are you getting all worked up about?
she asked herself.
You can handle Luke Scanlin. You’re not affected by him anymore, remember?

Not affected by Luke Scanlin anymore? Yes, she remembered. That first year, she’d said it to herself more often than a nun would say the rosary.

She was entirely different from the way she had been at eighteen, a young girl whose head was full of adventure and romance. A young girl waiting for her knight in shining armor to whisk her away to his castle.

There were darned few knights in San Francisco, but a real Texas cowboy had come awfully close. She’d met Luke Scanlin at a party. He’d been a guest of Lucy Pemberton’s brother, Tom. The rumor had quickly circulated that Luke was a war hero, on his way to join the Texas Rangers.

He had been tall, dark and handsome—
and
forbidden. At least by her mother, who had reminded her that he didn’t have any social position, any name. In short, he wasn’t
somebody.

Luke hadn’t seemed to know or care about such things, and that had made him all the more exciting. He’d been the stuff of Miss Pennybrook’s romantic novels—the ones respectable young ladies were not supposed to read.

Never mind that she had been practically engaged to Nathan Tinsdale. Never mind that she had been expected to marry and settle down to a respectable life that had been all planned out for her since the day she was born.

Nathan had been older than she by nearly twenty years, a man who had chosen to forgo marriage in order to pursue business. He hadn’t been nearly so appealing to a young girl as a cowboy who enticed her with word and touch until she surrendered to him.

Her hands shook, and it was from the memory, not the cold rain. She stopped still as feelings that were both deep and delicious washed over her. She remembered being in his arms. Her fingers brushed her lips as she remembered the sensation of his mouth on hers.

Excitement exploded in her like a shot. Despite the rain, her mouth was desert-dry. Her eyes fluttered closed.

Luke.

As quickly as the feelings had come, they were gone, replaced by guilt, gut-wrenching guilt. Dear God, what was the matter with her? How...how could she even think of anyone or anything else when her son, her baby, was missing?

She shook her head to clear away the cobwebs, send the ghosts back to their graves. What she and Luke had shared had been over a long time ago. Nathan was gone, but she had Andrew, and that was all she needed, would ever need.

It had been a fearful thing when she learned she was expecting. But somehow things had worked out, and from the first moment she set eyes on her baby, she’d thanked the good Lord for giving her this child. Andrew was a joy in her life, sometimes the only joy. Her world was built around him. Without him, there was a giant emptiness where her heart should be.

You’ll find him. You’ll get him back.

With a great sigh, she started walking again, startling a blackbird perched on a nearby picket fence. She watched as the bird took flight, and wished she could fly away from her troubles as easily.

Light gray clouds warred with darker ones, and it didn’t take an expert to know this storm wouldn’t be letting up anytime soon. She skirted a parked carriage whose shiny blue wheels were dulled by mud and crossed the street, turning left on Taylor.

She scanned the area, but she already knew Andrew wasn’t there. She had covered this whole section twice yesterday. Still, she called out. “Andrew! Andrew, are you there?”

No answer.

She focused on the narrow houses that lined the street like ornately painted dollhouses. Straining to look between them, she clung to the faint glimmer of hope. Perhaps...

A mother’s instinct told her that he wasn’t here. He wasn’t anywhere she’d searched already. Brody’s admonition about Andrew being kidnapped circled in the shadows of her mind, and she held it off with the bright light of hope.

They needed a methodical search of the area, not some ragtag hit-or-miss stroll through the neighborhoods. And yes, Luke was right.

He’d been here less than an hour and already he was taking over. Luke had a way of taking over, she thought, remembering how it had been with them.

He’d taken over her life back then. She’d wanted to be with him every minute, and when she wasn’t she’d been thinking about him, planning how to slip away to be with him. Then, two days after they made love, Luke Scanlin had gotten on his horse and ridden away. Just like that. A brief note saying he was off to Texas. He hadn’t even come by in person to tell her.

Her heart lurched as she remember the devastation, the hurt. She’d feigned illness and locked herself in her room for a day. It had seemed that most of that time she spent crying, or cursing his name, or praying it was a mistake and he’d return for her.

A month later, she’d given up on that idea. She’d known the truth then, about Luke, about trusting him.

Well, she thought, her chin coming up a notch in a defiant gesture, she’d done a lot of growing up that month, and she’d made some difficult choices.

Thunder rumbled, and a single bolt of lightning slashed across the sky, seeming to dive into the bay.

It had rained the day she married Nathan. What a dear, sweet man he’d been. Even if theirs had not been a marriage of passion, it had been a good marriage. She’d cared for and respected Nathan. She was eternally grateful to him.

She could still remember how frightened she’d been when she told him...everything. He’d been so understanding, telling her that he was not so free of sin that he could judge her. At that moment, Rebecca had felt her life was beginning anew, and she’d been grateful to Nathan for giving her that chance.

They had spent their honeymoon in Europe, and it had been a wonderful time, spent visiting wondrous museums in England, dining at romantic sidewalk caf;aaes in Paris, going to the opera in Italy. Then they’d returned to San Francisco, and she’d moved into the home he shared with his mother, Ruth. A warmth came over her at the thought of Ruth. She was the dearest person Rebecca had ever known. She’d welcomed Rebecca to the family with a love and affection that had never failed through all the years since.

Then a slick street, a steep hill, a horse that lost its footing, and Nathan’s carriage had turned over, killing Nathan, the driver, and two pedestrians. It had been an awful, tragic time. This only a year after her father’s death. When it seemed things couldn’t get worse, her mother, too, had passed away, only six months later.

It had been more than she could bear. Confused, overwhelmed by it all, she’d withdrawn into herself, refusing to leave her room, refusing to see anyone, refusing to eat or sleep.

It had been Ruth who had stood by her, forced her to eat, sat with her while she slept, cared for Andrew when Rebecca wasn’t up to the task. It had been Ruth who gave her hope and love and slowly brought her back and, yes, it had even been Ruth who insisted that Rebecca keep and run the small newspaper that was part of Nathan’s estate.

Somehow Ruth had known that working would give Rebecca the focus, the purpose, she needed. With that purpose, she’d recovered, devoting her life to Andrew and Ruth and the paper.

They were her world, and they’d been there for her through it all, good and bad.

She owed Ruth her life, and the debt was more than she could ever repay.

She pushed a lock of water-soaked hair back from her face and stopped, staring hard at the dark silhouette of a woman standing near the corner on the opposite side of the street. Dressed in a black coat and holding an equally black umbrella, she was a dark form against the gray-black sky. Rebecca took another step and saw the woman sway, then clutch an oak tree for support.

“Ruth!” she yelled. Hitching up her skirt, Rebecca ran flat out to help. Jumping over the rivulet of water near the curb, she grabbed Ruth by both arms. “Are you all right?”

Ruth looked up. She was cold, soaked to the skin, and her whole body seemed to be shaking with the force of a small earthquake. It was the painful, frantic beating of her heart that was scaring the devil out of her. At seventy, a body had to expect such things, she supposed. At least that was what that quack Doc Tilson kept telling her. Trouble was, she kept forgetting that she was old. In her mind, she was still twenty, and she had a lot to live for, like her grandson and Rebecca.

So, gulping in a couple of deep breaths, she forced a shaky smile and said, “I’m fine. Just a little winded.”

“Sure you are!” Rebecca obviously didn’t believe her for a minute. “Stay here. I’m getting the buggy.”

Rain trickled down from the oak tree, spattering on the walk.

“No.” Ruth shook her head. “I’m fine, or I will be. I need a minute to catch my breath.” She straightened to prove her point, and was rewarded with a sharp pain that started in the center of her chest and shot down her left arm, making her fingers tingle. She clenched her teeth, refusing to reveal the pain. Rebecca had enough to worry about.

“Come on,” she said firmly, reaching out. “I’ll just take your arm.”

“No chance. I’m getting that buggy, then we’re calling the doctor.” She made a half turn to leave.

“I’m not helpless.” Ruth started walking. Her steps were slow and measured, but she was determined to keep going. Rebecca had no choice but to snatch up the umbrella and fall in step with her.

“At least let me help you,” she chided gently. “You’re more hardheaded than...than...”

“A mule,” Ruth put in with a smile that was forced. She took Rebecca’s offered arm.

“Than a mule,” Rebecca returned. Holding up the umbrella, she managed to give them both a little protection from the steady downpour. They stepped off the curb and crossed Taylor Street. “If anything happened to you, I—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Ruth told her, knowing what Rebecca was going through. She loved Rebecca like a daughter. Rebecca had been exactly the right one for Nathan. She’d been patient and kind and loving to Ruth’s only son. Since Nathan had died, they’d been through a lot together. “Believe me. Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m too old and too cantankerous to die.”

“You shouldn’t be out here,” Rebecca chided gently. Wet leaves, stirred by the breeze, clung to their shoes and the hems of their dresses. “You know the doctor said you should rest and—”

“Dr. Tilson’s an old worrywart.” She didn’t have the strength to smile this time. “Besides, you can’t think I’d sit at home when Andrew is—” pain clenched in her chest like a vise, and her step faltered, but she recovered and continued on “—out here lost.” She gulped some air. That pain was increasing. Maybe she really had overdone it this time.