Page 8 of A Man for Amanda

  Panic was more than a skip now, but a hard slap.

  It darted into her eyes as she stared at him. "You don't mean that."

  "Yes, I do. And you know it or you wouldn't be sitting there looking like a rabbit caught in the high beams."

  "I don't—"

  "I'm not asking how you feel," he cut in. "I'm giving you my side of it, so you can get used to it."

  She didn't think she would, ever, any more than she would get used to him. Certainly it would be im­possible to get used to the feelings shooting off inside her. Is this what love was? she wondered. This edgy and bright sensation that could turn warm and soft without warning? "I don't—I'm not sure how..." She let out a huff of breath. "Did you do this just to make me crazy?"

  It helped to be able to smile. "Yep. Give me a kiss, Calhoun."

  She twisted and slid wetly out of his hold. "I'm not kissing you again, because it erases every intel­ligent thought from my head."

  Now he grinned. "Honey, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." When he rose smoothly from the pool, Amanda snatched up her towel. She snapped it once, hard enough to make the air crack.

  "Keep back. I mean it. You either give me time to figure all this out or I aim and fire. And I aim below the belt." There was both amusement and challenge in her eyes when she tilted her chin. "You don't have a lot of protection at the moment."

  He ran his tongue around his teeth. "You've got me there. How about a drive after you get off work?"

  It would be nice, she thought, to go driving with him up into the hills, with the windows open and the air streaming. But, regretfully, duty came first.

  "I can't. CC's shower's tonight. We're surprising her when she gets home from work." She frowned a little. "It's on your list."

  "Guess it slipped my mind. Tomorrow then."

  "I have the final meeting with the photographer, then I have to help Suzanna with the flowers. Not the next night, either," she said before he could ask. "Most of the out-of-town guests will be arriving, plus we've got the rehearsal dinner."

  "Then the wedding," he said with a nod. "After the wedding, Calhoun."

  "After the wedding, I'll..." She smiled, realizing she was enjoying herself. "I'll let you know." Grab­bing her wrap, she headed for the gate.

  "Hey. I haven't got a towel."

  She tossed a laugh over her shoulder. "I know."

  Late that afternoon, Sloan stood out on the lower terrace, making sketches of the exterior of The Tow­ers. He wanted to add another outside stairway with­out disturbing the integrity of the building. He stopped when Suzanna came out carrying two wicker baskets pregnant with spring flowers.

  "I'm sorry." She hesitated, then tried a smile. "I didn't know you were out here. I'm going to set things up for the shower."

  "I'll be out of your way in a minute."

  "That's all right." She set the basket down and went back inside.

  Over the next few minutes, she went back and forth, carrying out chairs and paper decorations. They passed the time in nerve-racking silence until she finally set aside one of Amanda's swans and looked at him.

  "Mr. O'Riley, have we met before?"

  He kept right on sketching. "No."

  "I wondered because you seemed to know me, and have a poor opinion of me."

  His gaze lifted coldly to hers. "I don't know you—Mrs. Dumont."

  "Then why—" She broke off. She hated confron­tations, the way they tightened up her stomach mus­cles. Turning away, she started back inside. She could feel his eyes on her, icy and resentful. After bracing a hand on the jamb, she forced herself to turn back. "No, I'm not going to do this. You're in my home, Mr. O'Riley, and I refuse to walk on eggshells in my own home ever again. Now I want to know what your problem is."

  He tossed his sketch pad onto a small glass-topped table. "The name doesn't ring any bells with you, Mrs. Dumont? O'Riley doesn't strike a chord?"

  "No, why should it?"

  His mouth tightened. "Maybe if I add a name to it. Megan. Megan O'Riley. Hear any bells now?"

  "No." Frustrated, she pushed a hand through her hair. "Will you get to the point?"

  "I guess it's easy for someone like you to forget. She wasn't anyone to you but a slight inconve­nience."

  "Who?"

  "Megan. My sister, Megan."

  Completely lost, Suzanna shook her head. "I don't know your sister."

  The fact that the name meant nothing to her only infuriated him. Sloan stepped toward her, ignoring the quick fear in her eyes. "No, you never met her face-to-face. Why bother? You managed to see that she was pushed aside easily enough. Not that you ended up with any prize. Baxter Dumont was always a bastard, but she loved him."

  "Your sister?" Suzanna lifted an unsteady hand to rub at her temple. "Your sister and Bax."

  "Starting to get through?" When she started to turn away, he grabbed her arm and whirled her back. "Was it for love or money?" he demanded. "Either way, you could have shown some compassion. Damn it, she was seventeen and pregnant. Couldn't you have stood back far enough to let the spineless sonofabitch see his son?"

  She'd gone a translucent shade of white. Under his hand, her arm seemed to turn to water. "Son," she whispered.

  "She was just a kid, a terrified kid who'd believed every lie he'd told her. I wanted to kill him, but it would only have made it worse for Meg. But you, you couldn't even find it in your heart to give her the scraps from the table. You went right ahead with your fancy life as if she and the boy didn't exist. And when she called and begged you just to let him see the boy once or twice a year, you called her a whore and threatened to have her son taken away if she ever contacted your precious husband again."

  She couldn't get her breath. Not since her last hid­eous argument with Bax had she found it so difficult to breathe. Weakly she batted at the hand that held her arm. "Please. Please, I need to sit down."

  But he was staring at her. As the impetus of his own rage ebbed he could see that it wasn't shame in her eyes, it wasn't derision or even anger. It was pure shock. "My God," he said quietly, "you didn't know."

  All she could do was shake her head. When his grip loosened, she turned and bolted into the house. Sloan stood for a moment, pressing his fingers against his eyes. All the disgust he had felt for Suzanna turned sharply on himself. He started after her and ran into a furious Amanda in the doorway.

  "What did you do to her?" With both hands she shoved him back. "What the hell did you say to her to make her cry like that?"

  The fist in his stomach squeezed tighter. "Where did she go?"

  "You're not getting near her again. When I think that I'd begun to believe I could—-damn you, O'Riley."

  "There's nothing you can say to me that's worse than what I'm already thinking about myself. Now where is she?"

  "You go to hell." She slammed the terrace door and flipped the lock.

  Sloan gave brief thought to kicking it in then, swearing, went around to the stone steps on the side of the house. He found Suzanna standing on the sec­ond-floor balcony, looking out at the cliffs. He'd taken his first step toward her when Amanda burst out of the doors.

  "You keep away from her." She already had a protective arm around her sister. "Just turn around and start walking. Don't stop until you get back to Oklahoma."

  "This isn't any of your concern," Sloan told her, and Suzanna had to grab hold before Amanda sprang at him.

  "It's all right." Suzanna squeezed Amanda's hand. "I need to talk to him, Mandy. Alone."

  "But—"

  "Please. It's important. Go down and finish setting up, will you?"

  Reluctant, Amanda stepped back. "If it's what you want." She aimed a killing look at Sloan. "Watch your step."

  When they were alone, Sloan struggled for the right words. "Mrs. Dumont. Suzanna—"

  "What's his name?" she asked.

  "What?"

  "The boy. What's his name?"

  "I don't—"

  "Damn it, what's his n
ame?" She whirled away from the wall. Shock had been replaced by angry tears. "He's half brother to my children. I want to know his name."

  "Kevin. Kevin O'Riley."

  "How old is he?"

  "Seven."

  Turning back to the sea, she shut her eyes. Seven years before she had been a new bride, full of hope and dreams and blind love. "And Baxter knew? He knew that she'd had his child?"

  "Yes, he knew. Megan wouldn't tell anyone at first who the father was. But after she'd called and spoken to you...but she didn't speak to you, did she?"

  "No." Suzanna continued to stare straight ahead. "Baxter's mother perhaps."

  "I want to apologize."

  "There's no need. If it had been one of my sisters, I would have struck out with more than a few hard words." To warm herself she cupped her elbows with her hands. "Go on."

  She was tougher than she looked, Sloan thought, but it didn't ease his conscience. "After she'd called, she fell apart. Tliat's when she finally told me every­thing. How she'd met Dumont when she'd gone to New York to visit some friends. He was there on some business and he started showing her around. She'd never been to New York before, and it—and he dazzled her. She was just a kid."

  "Seventeen," Suzanna murmured.

  "And naive with it. Well, she got over that quick enough." The bitterness came though. "He gave her all the usual bull about getting married, about how he'd come out to Oklahoma and meet her family. Once she got home, he never contacted her. She got through to him on the phone once or twice. He made excuses and more promises. Then she found out she was pregnant"

  He steadied himself, trying not to remember how angry and frightened he'd been when he'd learned his baby sister was going to have a baby of her own.

  "When she told him, he changed tactics fast. He said some pretty awful things to her, and she grew up fast. Too fast."

  Suzanna understood that, more than he could know. "It must have been terribly difficult for her, having the child without having the father."

  "She handled herself. I have a very supportive family. Well, you'd know about that."

  "Yes."

  "Luckily, money wasn't a problem, either, so she could get all the care she and the baby needed. She never wanted his money, Suzanna."

  "No, I understand that, too."

  He nodded slowly, seeing that she did. "And when Kevin was born...well, Meg was great. It was for his sake that she tried to contact Dumont again, and even­tually decided to appeal to his wife. All she wanted was for her son to have some contact with his father."

  "I understand." Steadier, she turned around to look at him. "Sloan, if I had any influence with Bax I'd use it." She lifted her hands and let them fall. "But I don't, not even when it concerns the children he's chosen to acknowledge."

  "I figure Kevin's better off the way things are. Su-zanna—" he dragged a hand through his disordered hair "—how the hell did a woman like you end up with Dumont?"

  She smiled a little. "Once I was a young, naive girl who believed in happy ever after."

  He wanted to take her hand but wasn't certain she'd accept it. "I know you said you didn't want an apology, but I'd feel a hell of a lot better if you'd take it just the same."

  It was she who offered her hand. "It's easy to do when it's family. I guess in an odd way, that's what we are." She pressed her free hand to their joined ones. Later, she promised herself, she would find a few minutes alone to let the grief come. And to let it go. "I want to ask you a favor. I'd like for my chil­dren to know about Kevin, and unless it would upset your sister, for them to have a chance to meet each other."

  "When I take a wrong turn, I take it big. It would mean a lot to her."

  "Jenny and Alex are going to be thrilled." She looked at her watch. "Speaking of which, they're probably already home from school and driving Aunt Coco crazy. I'd better go."

  He looked down the steps toward the terrace. And thought of Amanda. "Me, too. I've got other fences to mend."

  Suzanna lifted a brow. "Good luck."

  He had a feeling he was going to need it. By the time he'd reached the terrace, he was sure of it. Amanda was there, fastening streamers while Lilah leisurely tied balloons to the back of chairs. A long table was already covered with a frilly white cloth.

  Amanda heard the scrape of boot heels on stone and turned to aim one deadly glare. Lilah didn't need another hint.

  "Well." She flicked a balloon with a fingertip to send it dancing. "I think I'll go see if Aunt Coco's got any of those chocolate pastries ready." As she walked by Sloan, she paused. Unlike Amanda's, her eyes were cool, but me meaning was clear. "I'd hate to think I was wrong about you." She walked through the terrace doors and, after a brief hesitation, shut them to give her sister privacy.

  Amanda didn't wait to pounce. "You've got a nerve, or maybe you're just plain stupid, showing your face here after what you did."

  "You don't know anything about it. Suzanna and I worked it out."

  "Oh, you think so?" Ready to joust, she slammed down a package of pretty pink-and-silver plates. "Not by a long shot. When I think that just a few hours ago you'd nearly convinced me you were the kind of man I could care about, then I come home and find my sister running away from you looking devastated. I want to know what you did."

  "I ran with the wrong information. And I'm sorry about it."

  "That's not good enough."

  His own emotions were a bit too raw for reason. "Well, it's going to have to be. If you want to know more, you're just going to have to ask Suzanna."

  "I'm asking you."

  "And I'm telling you that what happened was be­tween her and me. It doesn't have anything to do with you."

  "That's where you're wrong." She crossed the ter­race until they were toe to toe. "You mess with one Calhoun, you mess with them all. I may have to put up with you until after the wedding, since you're sup­posed to be best man. But when it's over, I'm going to do whatever I have to do to see to it that you go back where you came from."

  Pushed to the end of his chain, he took her by the lapels. "I told you before, I finish what I start."

  "You are finished, O'Riley. The Towers doesn't need you, and neither do I."

  He was just about to prove her wrong when Trent opened the terrace doors. Trent took one look at his friend and future sister-in-law glaring daggers at each other and cleared his throat.

  "Looks like I'm going to have to work on my tim­ing."

  "Your timing's perfect." Amanda rammed an el­bow into Sloan's stomach before she pulled away. "We've got no time for men around here tonight. Why don't you take this jerk you've sicced on us and go do something manly." She shoved by Trent and stalked into the house.

  "Well." Trent let out a long breath. "I don't think I mentioned the Calhoun temperament when I asked you to take on the job."

  "No, you didn't." Scowling at the empty doorway, Sloan rubbed his stomach. "Is there a dark, noisy bar anywhere in this town?"

  "I guess we could find one."

  "Good. Let's go get drunk."

  He found the bar, and he found the bottle. Sloan slumped in the corner booth and hissed through his teeth as the whiskey stung his throat. Over the first drink, and the second, he told Trent about his alter­cation with Suzanna.

  "Baxter Dumont is Kevin's father? You never told me."

  "I gave Meg my word I wouldn't tell anybody. Even our folks don't know."

  Trent was silent a moment, sipping thoughtfully at his club soda. "It's hard to figure out how such a selfish bastard managed to father three terrific kids."

  "It's a puzzle, all right." Sloan signaled for an­other round. "Then I go off and unload both barrels on Suzanna." He broke off and swore. "Damn it, Trent, I'm never going to forget the way she looked when I cut loose on her."

  "She'll handle it. From what C.C.'s told me, she's dealt with worse."

  "Yeah, maybe. Maybe. But I don't care much for slapping down women. I was already feeling like something you scrape off your
shoe when Amanda lit into me."

  "These women stick together."

  "Yeah." Scowling, Sloan drank again. "Like a dirt clod."

  "Why didn't you explain things to her?"

  Sloan shrugged and knocked back more whiskey. He had his own share of pride. "It wasn't any of her business."

  "You just explained it to me."

  "That's different."

  "Okay. Do you want some pretzels to go with that?"

  "No."

  They sat for a moment, nursing drinks, two dynam­ically different men, one in battered jeans, the other in tailored slacks; one slumped comfortably, the other comfortably alert. They'd both come from money— Trent from real estate, Sloan from oil, but their back­grounds and family lives had been opposites. Trent's first experience with real family ties had come through the Calhouns, and Sloan had known them al­ways. They had almost nothing in common, and yet in their first semester in college they had become friends and had remained so for more than ten years.

  Because he was feeling sorry for himself, Sloan enjoyed the sensation of getting steadily drunk. Be­cause he recognized the symptoms, Trent stayed me­ticulously sober.

  Over yet another drink, Sloan eyed his friend. "When'd you start wearing basketball shoes?"

  Trent glanced down at his own feet and grinned to himself. They were a symbol of sorts of the way one hot-tempered brunette had changed his life. "They're not basketball shoes, they're running shoes."

  "What's the difference?" Sloan narrowed his eyes. "And you're not wearing a tie. How come you're not wearing a tie?"

  "Because I'm in love."

  "Yeah." With a short oath, Sloan sat back. "See what it's doing to you? It makes you nuts."

  "You hate ties."

  "Exactly. Damn woman's been driving me crazy since the first time I saw her."

  "C.C.?"

  "No, damn it. We were talking about Amanda."

  "Right." Settling back in the seat, Trent smiled. "Well, some woman's always driving you crazy. I've never seen anyone with a more...admirable affection for the gentler sex."

  "Gentler my ass. First she runs into me, then she knocks me on my butt. I can hardly say two words without having her claw at me." After calling for another drink, he leaned across the table. "You've known me for over ten years. Wouldn't y'say that I was a kind of even-tempered, affable sort of man?"

  "Absolutely." Trent grinned. "Except when you're not."

  Sloan slapped a hand on the table. "There you go." Nodding agreement, he pulled out a cigar. "So what the hell's wrong with her?"