her. Still, she pulled herself together and lifted her chin. “Dr. Moore wasn’t able to contact me until just last week.”
“Oh. Pardon me for thinking you might give your mother a call every once in a while,” Bryan said dryly. “You know, once a year or so.”
Tears stung the backs of Rachel’s eyes. She had called Addie over the years. She had tried to bridge the chasm that had divided them. Addie had hung up on her every single time. Every letter she’d sent had gone unanswered. Every overture of peace had been met with bitter, stony silence. But none of that was Bryan Hennessy’s business, and, despite all she had been through, Rachel had too much pride to enlighten him.
She pulled her shoulders back and gave him her haughtiest look. “You will pack your things and leave this house, Mr. Hennessy.”
“No, I won’t,” Bryan said evenly.
“I won’t have you taking advantage of my mother.”
Won’t have me taking advantage of her inheritance is more like it, Bryan thought. He gave her a black look that only darkened as he leaned over her and caught a whiff of her perfume, an elusive scent so delicate, he almost thought he’d imagined it, and yet it lured him closer.
Tempting fate, he bent his head so he was almost nose to nose with her-well within kissing distance. Her full, soft lips beckoned like a siren’s call. It was as if their bodies were communicating on a level of their own, impervious to opinions on character. His heart thumped hard, then slowed against his breastbone, and his lungs fought every shallow breath he tried to take. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced.
“Addie and I have a deal,” he said softly, straining to concentrate on the subject at hand. “More to the point, we have a contract. And most important to me, I gave her my word I’d find out what’s going on around here. That may not mean much to you, but I stand by my promises.”
Rachel barely heard his words. They were absorbed into her brain on one level while her conscious awareness dwelled on the man. She felt overwhelmed, enveloped by his masculinity, and she felt her body responding to it. A satiny warmth unfolded through her, down her arms and legs and into her breasts, making them feel heavy and full. Her gaze fastened on his mouth. In a way she couldn’t begin to explain or understand, she could almost taste his lips, could almost feel them on her own. The sensations were so vivid, they frightened her, and she took a step back from him in obvious retreat.
Bryan turned away and speared both hands back through his hair as he dragged in a deep, cleansing breath. Dammit, he swore inwardly, more shaken than angry at the moment. He’d never felt anything quite like the power that had held him in its grasp as he’d stared down at Rachel Lindquist’s petal-pink lips. He shook his head to clear it.
It must have had something to do with a combination of exhaustion and celibacy. Once he might have called it magic, but he couldn’t call it that now. Magic was what he had shared with Serena. All his magic had died with her. What he was feeling now-well, it was something he wanted no part of, certainly. He was there to do a job, that was all. That was all he could handle right now. That was all he wanted to handle.
“Hennessy?” an imperious voice sounded from the top of the stairs. “What in God’s name is going on down there?”
“I wish I knew,” Bryan mumbled to himself, shaking off the last of the sensation that had stunned him so. He planted his hands at his waist and looked up as Addie Lindquist descended the grand staircase.
Addie moved like a queen. She kept her thin shoulders square and her back straight. Age had shrunken her some, but she did not see that as an excuse for bad posture. Her hand skimmed the mahogany banister lightly. She held her head high. Her frazzled braid of silvery blond hair was draped over her shoulder. She looked like she should have been wearing a velvet cloak instead of a flannel nightgown.
“Who’s down there with you?” she demanded, squinting. “Is it Wimsey? The rascal. I haven’t seen him all day. I can’t imagine where he’s taken himself off to.”
“No, it isn’t Wimsey, Addie,” Bryan said, heartily wishing it were the elusive ghost of Drake House. He stepped to the left so Addie would have an unobstructed view of her visitor.
“Well, who is it, then? You’d better not be cavorting with the kitchen help again.”
“She sort of thinks I’m her butler,” Bryan whispered, tilting his head down so Rachel could hear him.
But Rachel wasn’t listening. She was seeing her mother for the first time in five years. When had Addie gotten so old? The beautiful, vital woman Rachel remembered had faded like a photograph left in the sun. Her hair was paler. The vibrant glow that had always radiated from Addie had dimmed. She seemed smaller, and, while she still had a beautiful complexion-something she had always taken great pride in-her face was deeply lined. In the time they had been apart Addie had slipped from middle age to old age. Suddenly the five years that had passed seemed even more of a waste.
As Addie stared down at her, Rachel suddenly felt as she had at sixteen when she’d been caught coming home after curfew. A hundred fears and anxieties tumbled inside her. How would Addie react to her coming here? It was Dr. Moore who had contacted her, not Addie. Addie wouldn’t even accept her phone calls. How would her mother receive her now that she was there in the flesh?
The ultimatum rang in her ears as if her mother had delivered it only yesterday.
Addie’s gaze settled on the pretty young woman standing beside Hennessy in the hall below her. At first there was no spark of recognition in her mind whatsoever, but, as she moved down one step and then another, she felt her mind shift gears. A quiver of fright ran through her as she realized this was someone she should know but couldn’t place. The feeling lasted only a second or two, but its intensity sapped the strength from her, and she had to pause on the landing before descending the last few steps. Then the fog of confusion cleared abruptly and recognition startled her so, she nearly gasped.
“Rachel,” she said, her pale eyes round with wonder. She didn’t smile or rush forward, but held still. If she moved toward this vision, there was every chance it would vanish. If she was still, she could soak it up greedily and pray that her memory would hold it.
Rachel. Lord, when had she become a woman? She was beautiful. She was dressed like a cheap Gypsy in faded jeans and a purple sweater that hung to the middle of her slender thighs, but it made no difference; she was beautiful.
Her daughter, the child she had thought lost, was there before her, a woman. Emotions ran riot inside her, joy and regret and anger swirling and tumbling around in her brain and overwhelming her. She could only stand on the landing of the grand staircase and stare and say her daughter’s name. “Rachel.”
Rachel shivered, rooted to the spot. She wanted to rush forward and embrace her mother, but that was not the way of the Lindquists. They had never been the type for hugs and kisses and “vulgar” public displays of emotion. Instead, she tried to swallow down her fears and simply said, “Mother.”
It was a simple word full of complex feelings. There was so much between them, such a complicated history, so many memories, so much pain. Rachel pressed a hand to her pounding heart. Since she had received Dr. Moore’s call, she had thought of little besides her mother and how they would handle the situation. But now she realized that never once in all that time had she allowed herself to recognize the hope she’d harbored for this moment.
Bryan watched the exchange between mother and daughter with interest. What kind of family was this? His mother would have had him in a bear hug the instant he’d come through the door. Addie and Rachel stared at each other as if there were an invisible wall between them.
Perhaps there was.
The look in Addie’s eyes was guarded, almost defensive. Rachel appeared to be more frightened than joyful. Had she caught that second of blankness in her mother’s gaze when Addie had almost certainly failed to recognize her? Bryan tried to tell himself it served her right. She was the one who had left and not come back for five years. She deserved to be frightened. But he couldn’t stop the rush of sympathy that welled inside him. The expression in Rachel’s eyes was a little girl’s, hopeful and repentant. If she had looked at him that way, he knew he would have forgiven her anything.
“Rachel,” Addie said again, stepping down from the landing. She held herself perfectly erect.
This was the daughter she had devoted her life to. This was the daughter who had chosen to throw away all their dreams to chase after a two-bit drifter who had an adequate voice and a beat-up guitar. This was the daughter who had left her. Her deteriorating mind had no trouble recalling these facts while it ignored the attempts
