Emily McKay - All He Ever Wanted

“No, it never occurred to me that your mother might have written the letter. But your grandmother was the Cain housekeeper for nearly thirty years. I thought she might know something.”

“About your father’s romantic indiscretions? I can’t imagine why she would. That hardly fell under her purview.”

“No. She wouldn’t have time to manage the house if it had.” He quickly explained his reasoning. “She worked for my father longer than most Cain Enterprises employees. If my father had any secrets, she knew them. If my parents fought, she overheard it. If there’s anyone with dirt on my family, it’s your grandmother.”

As he spoke, Laney looked down at the owl again. She ran her hand over the pretend feathers and gave the wing a little tug.

When she didn’t meet his gaze, he continued, “I visited the assisted-living center she’s at. They wouldn’t even let me in without your approval. I need to talk to her. You have to let me see her.”

Laney’s shoulders stiffened. “I no longer have any connection to your family. I don’t have to do anything.”

It was his turn to clench his jaw. He wasn’t Hollister’s son for nothing. He knew when to grovel. “Will you please grant me access to your grandmother?”

“No.” She held up a hand, warding off the arguments she could see percolating. “She doesn’t know anything. She can’t give you any information.”

Finally, she turned and met his gaze. Her own was clear and determined, but he didn’t let that bother him.

“I can make it worth your while,” he said.

“Of course you can. You’re a Cain. You Cains are experts at making lavish promises.”

“I may be a Cain, but I’m not my father. I plan on keeping any promises I make.”

“Kudos to you for knowing the difference between a promise made and a promise kept.”

“We’re not all heartless bastards,” he reminded her.

“That remains to be seen.” She gave the owl another pat on the head and turned to face him fully. “However, it’s immaterial. I’m not keeping you from Gran on a whim. She can’t help you.”

“Let me talk to her. Let her decide that.”

“It’s not that simple. Gran has Alzheimer’s. Even if she did know something, she’d be unable to tell you. If she ever knew the answers to your questions, the information is locked away in her head.”

Laney’s words sank slowly into his brain. Their meaning was almost incomprehensible. “Alzheimer’s?” he repeated stupidly.

Laney didn’t meet his gaze, and he thought there might have been a sheen of tears in her eyes.

His mind flitted through his memories of Laney’s grandmother, Mrs. Fortino as he’d always called her, because his own mother had always insisted on maintaining that level of formality with the staff. Matilda Fortino had been a battleship of a woman. Serious and stern, she’d been a rock in his childhood. Where his own mother had been mercurial and temperamental, Mrs. Fortino had been stalwart and consistent—a steady force in a tumultuous household.

Suddenly he felt Laney’s hand on his arm. He looked up to realize she’d crossed to stand beside him. Shock had rocked him back so he leaned against the corner of one of the bookcases.

“Didn’t you know?” Her words cut through the fog her news had cast over his brain.

“No.”

“I’m sorry. I assumed the assisted-living center told you why she’s not allowed visitors.”

“They didn’t. Only that you’d have to come with me if I wanted to see her.”

Laney ran a hand up and down his arm. It was a gentle gesture, meant to soothe and calm. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “If I’d known that you didn’t know, I wouldn’t have been so harsh.”

He looked from her hand to her face and found her studying his expression. Her unusual amber eyes were wide, concern crinkled her brow. She stood close enough that the front of her dress brushed against his legs and her breasts were mere inches from his arm. He sucked in a deep breath.

This wasn’t why he was here—no matter how tempting Laney Fortino was.

But all the deep-breathing exercises in the world wouldn’t help—not when the scent of her filled his lungs with every inhalation. She smelled like crayons and Elmer’s Glue. The unique combination should have been unappealing but wasn’t. And underneath that was the smell of her soap or maybe her shampoo—something fruity and simple, clean and uncomplicated.

He nearly laughed at the thought. Laney may smell uncomplicated, but there was nothing uncomplicated about the way she made him feel.

He straightened away from the bookcase, which only brought her closer. She snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned and skittered away from him, retreating to the desk.

“Strangers upset her. Gran, I mean. Of course, you’re not a stranger. But that’s why the assisted-living center doesn’t let people visit her. Her doctor thinks it’s for the best.”

He felt himself crumbling under the weight of her words. When he forced his gaze back to hers, it was to see her watching him with an emotion he rarely saw directed at him—an emotion he never thought he’d see in her eyes… certainly not after he’d spent so much of their teenage years treating her with disdain and scorn.

He’d known from the time he was thirteen that Laney Fortino could be his downfall. He’d known she alone had the power to bring him to his knees. He’d fought against it with every tool in his juvenile arsenal. He’d been rude, condescending and—occasionally—downright mean.

Laney had looked at him with the sting of pain, feisty rebellion and with downright anger. But until now, she’d never looked at him with sympathy.

Given their troubled history, she should have enjoyed seeing defeat flicker across Dalton’s face. Maybe time had mellowed out her dislike of him. Or maybe it was just that… jeez, they were talking about Gran . How could she be upset with anyone—even Dalton—who got this choked up about Gran?

So often she felt as though she was all alone in caring for her gran—no father, no siblings. Yes, the staff at the assisted-living facility took care of her grandmother, but they didn’t care about her. And they didn’t offer Laney the emotional support a loved one would. So maybe it was natural that she went all gooey inside when she saw Dalton openly devastated by the news.

“I’m so sorry, Dalton. I had no idea Gran meant so much to you.”

He glanced up, surprise flickering across his features.

Instantly, she knew she’d guessed wrong. She blew out a huff of annoyance as she walked over to the nearest cluster of tables and began picking stray crayons off the floor. “Never mind.”

He watched her for a moment in silence, then said, “You’re annoyed with me.”

She set aside a picture book with a sigh. “No. I’m annoyed with myself. For a minute there, I actually felt sorry for you. I forgot you’re a Cain. Heartless and cold, just like the rest of them.”

She frowned at her own words. She was heartless and cold—glacial, practically. Except for the moment when she’d touched his arm. He’d looked up at her with genuine heat in his gaze. She’d swear it. What was she supposed to do with that?

Before she could find any answers, he spoke. “Is that really what you think of me?”

Shaking her head, she shoved a few crayons into one of the buckets before moving on to the next cluster of tables. “What else am I supposed to think? I tell you my grandmother has Alzheimer’s, and you feign sympathy to manipulate me?” She looked up at him, half expecting him to dodge her gaze in shame. He didn’t. “I didn’t expect even you to be that much of a jerk.”