Bethany Campbell - Wild Horses

“She inherited it from her mother. Almost twenty years ago.”

“She’s lived her whole life here?”

“Yes,” was all Mickey would say.

But Adam wasn’t put off by short answers. He pressed on. “Carolyn had a sister. She married a neighbor, J. T. McKinney. But she’s been dead for years, hasn’t she?”

“Yes.” Mickey didn’t know where these questions were leading, but they made her nervous.

“What happened to Carolyn’s father?”

Mickey’s body tensed. “He—deserted his family. The marriage was never very stable. One day he just disappeared. I don’t feel comfortable talking about it.”

Adam took another drink of wine. “It’s not easy for a man to disappear completely. Does she even know if he’s alive?”

Mickey squared her shoulders combatively. “She got word five years ago that he’d died in Canada. Now let’s drop the subject. Please.”

“Fine,” he said with a shrug. “We’ll talk about you. How long have you worked here?”

“Nine years,” she said. “I sort of ‘interned’ here for two years while I finished high school. I started right after Beverly went to Denver.”

“Hmm,” he said. “Beverly’s an only child. You must have become a sort of substitute daughter.”

Mickey blinked in displeasure. “I’m an employee, that’s all.”

This was not the truth, but Mickey would be damned before she told him any more. Mickey and Carolyn had filled painful emotional gaps in each other’s lives, and there was more than affection between them. There was love and the truest friendship Mickey had ever known.

“I didn’t mean you replaced her daughter.” Adam shrugged. “It just seems you’re more like one of the family. What about your own family? Where are they?”

“I have no family.” She said it sharply.

Suddenly his expression, so unreadable before, became sympathetic. “I’m sorry. Your parents are dead?”

“My mother died when I was sixteen.” Mickey said it with such acrimony that she hoped it would stop his questions.

But he nodded, almost sadly. He had an unexpected gift for seeming concerned. “That’s a hard age to lose a parent. And your father?”

She should lie. She should tell him none of this was his business. But if he wanted the ugly truth, she would give it to him. “My father divorced my mother when I was seven. He moved to California and married another woman. He never communicated with us again. He made it clear he didn’t want to.”

He set down his fork. He whistled softly. He put his elbow on the table and his chin on his fist. He stared at her. “So you were sixteen years old, without parents? What did you do?”

“I became a ward of the court. Nobody wanted me for a foster child. So Vern and Carolyn became my guardians. They took me in.”

He gazed at her with disconcerting steadiness. “Bridget said Carolyn put you through business school.”

I’m going to kill Bridget, Mickey thought. I’m going to put my hands around her neck and strangle her dead.

“Can we please talk about something else? What about your family?”

He shook his head. “I see why you’re close to Carolyn. You both had the same experience. The runaway father, the abandonment. She must seem like a second mother to you.”

No. She feels like my only mother; the one who really counted, the one I could depend on, who never shamed me or scared me or made me feel bad about myself.

But Mickey didn’t want to think about her real mother, a deeply troubled woman. Her appetite had fled, and she pushed her plate away. She struggled against the urge to excuse herself from the table and leave Adam sitting alone.

She must have looked as unhappy as she felt. He said, “I’m sorry. It’s just that your relationship is unusual. I—glanced into your office. You have all these photographs. Of you and her and her family. None of you and anyone else.”

Mickey’s emotions, so off balance for so long with this man, tipped again. Anger seized her. “You looked in my office? You looked at my pictures? How dare you?”

“I’m a daring guy,” he said. “I looked in hers, too.”

His brazenness appalled her. “You went in our offices? Those doors were closed. I closed them on purpose.”

“You didn’t lock them,” he said. He had the effrontery to smile.

“That’s inexcusable,” she accused. “I’m calling Vern. I’m telling him about this. And I hope he says to put you right out of this house. What right do you think you—”

He cut her off. “Look, I didn’t commit a crime. I didn’t go through the drawers or read the mail or move so much as a paper clip. I opened two doors, I looked at some pictures. That’s all. And I didn’t hide it from you. I told you.”

“It’s still a violation of trust,” she said with the same indignation. “It’s an invasion of privacy. Carolyn opened her house to you—even while she’s going through this—this horrible thing. And you flout her generosity by poking and snooping and spying on us like a—a—”

Resentment crackled in his eyes. “Stop it. I came here expressly to see her. I didn’t even know what she looked like. When you took me to the guest room, both those office doors were open. I saw the photos. I wanted to see close-up. I especially wanted to see her. It’s not like I picked your locks and stole the damned silverware.”

Mickey stood and roughly shoved her chair back in place. “You still had no right.”

“I said I wanted to see her,” he repeated, his lip curling in a sneer. “And I did. I figured out which one she is from the pictures of Beverly’s wedding. She’s a very lovely woman, Carolyn is.”

“Yes, she is,” Mickey snapped. “And you’re a very ill-bred man. Good night.”

She stalked from the room, her heart slamming so hard she could barely breathe. She would call Vern. She hoped he would tell her to throw Duran out of the house, executor or not, will or no will. Let Martin Avery handle it. And she was going to read Bridget the riot act.

But not now. Not yet. She was too upset. She threw open the French doors in the living room that led to the screened deck. She stepped outside into the gathering darkness, grateful for the coolness of the evening air on her heated skin.

She was so furious that she shook and her blood banged in her temples. Too much had happened today. She could stand no more. She forced herself to breathe deeply. She closed her eyes and covered them with her hands.

Perhaps she had overreacted to the man. But he really was the last straw. She started to count from one to a hundred, trying to calm herself.

But suddenly she realized she was not alone. She could feel another presence; feel his presence. She opened her eyes and whirled to face him.

She was about to order him to get away from her, but before she could speak, he laid his forefinger against her lips. The movement was full of such self-assurance, it shocked her wordless.

He pressed his finger against her mouth more firmly. “Shhh,” he commanded in a low voice. “I only wanted to see what she looks like. What she seems like. And I have the right. I’m her brother. Her half brother. Enoch’s my uncle, too. And he didn’t leave the lease lands to her. He left them to me.”

MICKEY GAPED AT HIM, speechless. She felt as if she’d taken a punch to the stomach. Nausea and giddiness spun within her. She couldn’t get her breath.

Carolyn’s half brother? Impossible. He couldn’t be. He was younger even than Carolyn’s daughter.

Yet, not impossible.

Frantically, Mickey’s eyes explored his moonlit features. He did resemble Carolyn. Even more, he looked like Carolyn’s late sister, Pauline. She should have seen it from the first.