The Last Honest Woman Page 15

  Sigmund bounded around the side of the house and leaped toward her, tongue lolling. Maddy evaded him with the ease of a woman used to dodging foot traffic on crowded sidewalks. She bent down and rubbed his fur vigorously with both hands until he settled down.

  "I don't know what to make of you, Dylan." Still leaning over the dog, she turned her head to look up at him. "I'd almost decided not to like you until I saw you with the boys. Generally I think kids are the best judge of people, and they like you." When he said nothing, she straightened and looked directly at him. "The main reason I came down to see Abby was because of you."

  Dylan decided the stock could wait, and drew out a cigarette. "I don't think I follow you."

  "When I talked to Abby a week or so ago, she sounded unnerved. It takes a lot to unnerve Abby." Maddy dipped her hands into her pockets, but her candid, friendly gaze remained on his. "She's been through a lot. I wasn't always around, Chantel wasn't always around, it wasn't possible to give her support when it turned out she needed it most. That's why we're here now."

  He let out a long stream of smoke. "It seems to me that Abby can take care of herself."

  "Absolutely." She dragged a hand through her hair, but the wind tossed it back again. "Look at this place. She loves it, and whether she's told you or not, she's done it all on her own. All. I don't know what she's told you, or might tell you, about Chuck Rockwell, but everything here is Abby's."

  "You didn't like him."

  "For an actress, I'm often transparent. No, I didn't like him, and there are really very few people I can say that about But my feelings are my own, and Abby's are hers. I won't see her slapped down again, though." She smiled a little, but her smile took nothing away from her firm tone. "Thing is, I'd expected to stand between you and Abby with my fists raised. I don't think that's going to be necessary."

  "You don't know me."

  "I think Abby does," she said simply. "If she cares for you, there's a reason. I guess that's enough." She linked her arm through his as though she'd been doing so for years. "Let's feed the horses."

  Dinner was a babble of conversation. The food might have been simple, but it was consumed enthusiastically, down to the last crumb. When it came time to deal with the dishes, Frank made his escape with his banjo. Because he was entertaining the children, Abby said nothing and went about the task herself. It was reward enough to hear her father's voice over the sound of clattering china and silverware.

  "Let me do that."

  "Mom, you're on vacation."

  "Do you know the last time I washed dishes?" Molly stacked plates in the quick, expert style that demonstrated her on-again, off-again career as a waitress. "God, I don't. I used to think it was relaxing."

  Maddy wrinkled her nose and grabbed a few glasses. "I wish you'd come to my apartment and relax. Come on, Chantel, grab that platter."

  "I peeled the potatoes," She looked critically at her hands. "Unless you have surgical gloves, I'm not putting these in dishwater."

  "Vain," Maddy grumbled as she stacked more dishes. "Always vain."

  "It's only vanity if you haven't a right to it." Chantel smiled and slid off the stool. "I think I'll give Pop a hand."

  Dylan began to stack plates in the dishwasher. "I imagine you've done enough housework for one day," he said to Abby. "Why don't you go sit with your father?"

  One look was enough to remind her of the harsh words he'd spoken that morning. Wanting to avoid a scene in front of her family, Abby backed off. "It looks as though you have things under control."

  There was the sound of three-part harmony from the living room. "Frank'll be in heaven," Molly commented. "He's got his girls singing with him again. Go ahead, Maddy, we're nearly done here."

  Maddy needed no urging to slip out of the kitchen and into the spotlight. Within seconds the voices were joined by another. Frank picked up the beat with the banjo and went into the next number. Molly began to hum as she wiped off a counter.

  "Guess I'm sentimental," she said, "but it does my soul good to hear them."

  "You've quite a family, Mrs. O'Hurley."

  "Oh, Lord, don't call me that. Call me that and you remind me I'm too damn old to be running around the country and smearing on greasepaint. Molly, just plain Molly."

  Dylan closed the door of the dishwasher and looked at her, really looked. She was lovely, with soft, small features and a full, youthful mouth. The lines made no difference that he could see, no difference at an. "I wouldn't say just plain Molly."

  She laughed, a full, robust sound that contrasted with her height and build. "Oh, you're a smart one, you are, and you've a way with words. I read your last book, the one about that actress, on the train." She laid the dishcloth over the spigot.

  "And?" There was an and in there, though he wasn't certain it would be complimentary.

  "You're a hard man, the kind who sees things that would probably be better left alone. But you're fair." When she turned and looked at him again, really looked, he saw that her eyes were like Abby's, deep and vulnerable. "Be fair with my girl, Dylan. That's all I want. She's strong. Sometimes it scares me just how strong. When she's hurt, she doesn't ask for help, but binds her wounds herself. I don't want her to have to bind anymore."

  "I didn't come here to hurt her."

  "But you may unintentionally hurt her in the end." She sighed a little. Her children were grown. They'd started taking steps without her help years before. "Can you sing?" she asked him abruptly.

  Off balance, he looked at her a moment, then laughed. "No."

  "Then it's time you learned." She took him by the arm and led him out to join the others.

  It was after midnight before the house settled down. Abby thought Maddy and Chantel might still be talking and laughing in the room they were sharing. Her parents would be asleep, as comfortable in the strange bed as they had been in hundreds of other strange beds. She was restless, too restless to sleep, too restless to join her sisters. Instead, she slipped a coat over her robe and went out to the barn. The foal that had pleased Maddy so much was asleep, curled contentedly in the hay with her mother guarding him. Gladys was awake, perhaps too close to her own time to rest. Abby stroked her, hoping to soothe both herself and the mare.

  "You need some sleep."

  Her fingers tightened in the mare's mane, then slowly relaxed before she turned to Dylan. "I didn't hear you come in. I thought everyone was in bed."

  "You should be. You look tired." He came closer, almost afraid to get close enough to touch her. "I saw you leave. I was standing at the window."

  "Just checking on Gladys," Abby rested her cheek against the mare's. The morning's argument seemed so far away. It seemed like years since she'd lain beside him and felt excitement build. "With my family here, it's going to be a little difficult for us to work together for the next couple of days."

  "I've got enough to work on my own for a while. Abby-" He wanted her, wanted to gather her close and pretend things were every bit as simple as sitting around the living room and singing. He wanted to offer her the kind of unconditional support her family did, yet there seemed to be a wall between them. "I'd like to talk to you about this morning."

  She'd known he would. For a moment, she continued to stroke Gladys. "All right. Would you like to go inside?"

  "No." He caught her as she turned, caught her before he could give himself the chance to remember he should keep a certain distance. "I want you alone. Damn it, Abby, I want some answers. You're driving me crazy."

  "I wish I could give you the ones you want." She took a deep breath and put her hands on his arms, both to comfort, and to emphasize her point. "Dylan, I decided as I was driving back here today to tell you everything, to be completely open with you. I may not give you the answers you want, but I'm going to trust you with the truth."

  That was all he wanted from her, or so he told himself. He watched her in the dim, slanting light. "Why?"

  She could have evaded him, and perhaps she should have, but
honesty had to begin somewhere. "Because I'm in love with you."

  He didn't step back, but his hands slid slowly away from her until he was no longer touching her. Abby felt a little tingle of pain. "I told you it might not be the answer you wanted."

  "Wait a minute. Wait a minute," he repeated as she turned away. Even through his own shock he'd seen the flicker of hurt in her eyes. "You can't expect to say something like that and not leave me a little stunned." When she turned toward him, he didn't reach out to her, because she terrified him. "I don't know what to say to you."

  "You don't have to say anything." Her words were calm and low, and there was a touch of amusement in her eyes now. "I'm responsible for my own feelings, Dylan. That's something I learned a long time ago. I answered your question honestly because I decided that avoiding this and the rest of your questions will only put me into a hole I may never get out of. About this morning-"

  "The hell with this morning." He caught her face in his hands and stared at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. "I don't know what to do about you. I sure as hell don't know what to do for you."

  It would have been so easy just to step forward into his arms. To ask to be held. She knew he wouldn't refuse. Abby shook her head and kept her arms at her sides. "That's a problem I can't help you with."

  She was closer now, but he didn't even realize that he'd closed the distance between them. "I don't want to get tangled up in a relationship. I had one marriage hit the skids. I have a career that requires me to be selfish to begin with."

  "I'm not asking you for a relationship, Dylan. I'm not asking you for anything at all."

  "That's the trouble, damn it. If you asked, I could tell you to forget it." Or so he hoped. "If you asked I could give you two dozen reasons why it would never work." She looked at him, her eyes warm and calm. He swore at her, then at himself, before he drew her into his arms. "I want you. There doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it."

  "There's nothing you have to do."

  "Shut up," he muttered. Then he closed his mouth over hers.

  It was as if the day had never happened. The heat, the passion, the glow, were just as strong as they'd been before. She softened against him as if she knew he needed her to be soft. Her lips were avid and hungry on his, meeting every demand. In the dim light of the barn he could see her eyes flutter closed, then open to watch him as their mouths met again and again. The scent of animals and hay and leather was strong, but as she entwined her arms around him he could only smell the fresh, light hint of soap on her skin.

  "I don't want to talk." He skimmed his lips over her cheek before he drew her back. "I don't really want to think."

  "No." She linked her fingers with his. "Not tonight. I'll give you all the answers, Dylan. I promise."

  He nodded but wondered if she already had.

  CHAPTER Eleven

  Things got a little crazy when Gladys went into labor. Abby was walking through her morning routine, her father strolling along beside her. The ground was hard again and just beginning to show signs of new life. Her father's shoes hit the path in their own cheerful rhythm. She never tired of listening to him spin his stories of life on the road. Even though she'd been there herself for more than half her life, Abby was able to suspend reality and believe it was all glamour and excitement and opening nights.

  "I tell you, Abby, it's a great life. City after city, town after town. What a way to see the world."

  He never mentioned the back-alley entrances, the smoke-and liquor-filled rooms, or the disinterested crowds. There were no such things in Frank O'Hurley's world. Abby was grateful for it.

  "Vegas, what a place. The neon flashing, the slot machines clinking. People waltzing around in evening clothes at 8:00 a.m. Ah, I'd give a lot to play Vegas again."

  "You will, Pop." Maybe not on the Strip, maybe not with his name several feet high on a marquee, but he'd play Vegas again. Just as he'd play in dozens of other towns. A man like Frank O'Hurley couldn't stop performing any more than he could stop breathing and survive. In the blood, he'd often said to her, and in the blood it was. And it was because the O'Hurley blood was thick that he was up before eight o'clock and walking in a farmyard with his daughter when be usually considered noon a barely civilized hour. Knowing that only made Abby love him more.

  "This place." He stopped but was careful not to breathe too deeply. "It suits you, I guess. Must take after your grandma. Never would leave that farm in Ireland." He had a moment's pang for early memories that were more dreams than memories. "You happy, Abby?"

  She thought about the question because she sensed the answer was important. The farm brought her contentment and personal satisfaction. The children- Abby smiled as she remembered their complaints at being sent off to school when the excitement was at home. The children gave her roots and pride and the kind of love she could never describe. And Dylan. He brought her passion and fire and serenity all at once. He made life complete. Even though she knew it was only temporary, it seemed to be enough.

  "I'm happier now that I've been in a long, long time." That was true enough. "I like what I've done here. It's important to me."

  It was beyond Frank how anyone could be happy staying rooted to one spot. But he'd always wanted his children to have what they wanted most. It didn't matter what it was, as long as they had it. "This writer-" He felt his way along here. It was untested ground. "Well, Abby, a body would have to be blind not to see the way you look at him.''

  "I'm in love with him." Strange how easily the words came out now without a pang of regret, without a twinge of fear.

  "I see." He let out the whistling sound through his teeth. "Should I talk with him?" For a moment she went blank. Then the laughter came. "Oh, no, Pop, no. You don't have to talk to him." She stopped and kissed her father's smoothly shaven cheek. "I love you."

  "And so you should." He pinched her chin. "Now I can admit that your mother and I are concerned about you, living alone out here and trying to run things all on your own." He grinned and tugged on her hair. "Fact is, your mother claims there's not a reason in the world to worry about you, but I worry just the same."

  "You don't have to. The boys and I have a good life. The life we want."

  "That's easy to say, but a father considers worrying over his daughters a serious matter. Chantel, well, she gave me enough anxiety as a teenager, so I figure we're past that stage now. And Maddy can talk her way in and out of anything under the sun."

  "Like her pop."

  He grinned. "Like her pop. But you've been a different matter. Never a minute's trouble with you as a child, and then-" He let his words trail off. It wasn't fair or right to tell her now about the hours he'd spend agonizing over what had happened in her life, the heartbreaks, the struggles. Though he was a caring man, he hadn't grieved for his son-in-law. He had only prayed for his daughter's peace of mind. "But now that I know you're going to be settling down with a man, a good, solid man, if I don't miss my mark, I can rest easy.

  The early-morning breeze whispered through her hair. It was warm, almost balmy. What a difference a few weeks could make. "I'm not settling down with Dylan, Pop. It's not like that."

  "But you just said-"

  "I know what I said." She kicked a small stone out of her path and wished other obstacles could be dealt with as easily. "He won't stay, Pop. This isn't the life for him. And I can't go, because this is the life for me."

  "I've never heard such a barrel of nonsense." She opened the barn door, and though it hadn't been his intention to actually go in, he was compelled to follow. He'd led his family over the country, crisscrossing, overlapping, circling. Shouldn't he be able to lead his Abby where she already wanted to go? "People in love make certain adjustments. Not sacrifices." Abby knew her father didn't believe in sacrifices. "Compromises and such, Abby. You didn't have that with the other-'' He wouldn't say Chuck's name. His throat simply closed over it. "That's because it takes two people to compromise. If one's doing all the
adjusting, it's like a rubber band. It's either going to fly away or break."

  She studied him. He wasn't a handsome man, but he was an engaging one, with his small, agile build and animated face. Often he played the clown, because bringing laughter was what he felt he'd been fashioned for. But he was no fool.

  "You're very wise, Pop." Abby kissed him again and remembered all the times he'd been right there when she'd stumbled. "Dylan's nothing like Chuck. And I'm beginning to realize that I'm nothing like the woman who married that excitingly irresponsible man."

  "Just how does this man feel about you?"

  "I don't know." She hit the lights. "I guess I really don't want to because it would make the situation harder one way or the other. Now don't worry." She put both hands on his spindly shoulders. "I told you I was happy here just as I am. I'm not looking for a man to take care of me, Pop. I did that once before."

  "And a poor job he did of it, too.''

  She had to laugh and kiss him again. When Frank O'Hurley lost his temper, it was quite a scene. "He wasn't made to take care of me, Pop, and I just couldn't take care of him. You know very well that's not what marriage is about. It's a team, like you and Mom."

  "Those two young boys need a man around."

  "I know that." That was where the guilt ultimately came from. "I can't give them everything."

  He cut himself off because he heard it in her voice, the faint regret, the obvious guilt. He took her hands and squeezed. "You've done a damn fine job with them. Anyone says different, they have to take on Frank O'Hurley."

  She laughed, remembering a few brawls. He might be small, but her father enjoyed a tussle. "Why don't you help me feed the horses instead?"

  He drew back a little, naturally cautious. "Well, I don't know about that, Abby girl, I'm a man of the city."

  "Come on now, you'll want to see the foal."

  She started to walk to the first stall when instinct had her looking into Gladys's. With quick moves, Abby was swinging open the stall door and going to the laboring horse.

  "What's the matter? What's the matter?" Her father was practically skipping behind her. "Is it sick? Contagious?"

  Abby had to laugh even as she checked the mare. "Having babies isn't a communicable disease, Pop. Go into the kitchen, look in my book and call the vet."

  He let loose a string of Irish and American curses. "You need water? Hot water?"

  "Just call the vet, Pop, and don't worry. I'm an old hand at this."

  He scurried off, and didn't come back. Abby hadn't expected him to. He did send Dylan, though to Abby's surprise, Chantel poked her head in the stall behind him.

  "Should we get ready to pass out cigars?"

  "Soon enough. Did Pop call the vet?"

  "I did." Dylan took his place beside her. "Frank ran into the kitchen demanding boiling water. I think your mother's calming him down. How's Gladys doing?"

  "Pretty good." She glanced up at her sister. Chantel was as cool and polished as ever in buff-colored slacks and a silk blouse. "You're up early."

  Chantel just shrugged, not bothering to mention that when your life revolved around 6:00 a.m. calls you got in the habit of rising early. "I couldn't miss all the excitement." Then, because her heart went out to the mare, female to female, she crouched down. "Anything I can do?"

  "It's nearly done," Abby announced.

  And so she and Dylan delivered their second foal, working together in a kind of unstated partnership that had Chanters eyes narrowing. Perhaps she'd misjudged him, she thought. But she wasn't accustomed to misjudging a man. Not any longer.

  "What's going on?"

  Rumpled from a night's sleep and dressed in overalls that swamped her, Maddy staggered in. "I'm supposed to bring a message to the front. It seems the vet's on call. His service is tracking him down, but it might be a while." She yawned hugely. "Pop's got water boiling on every burner. If the vet doesn't show up soon he's threatening to call the paramedics. You can't even get a cup of coffee in there."

  "We're getting ready to knit four little pink bootees," Chantel told her. She brushed off the knees of her slacks as she rose.

  "Would you look at that." Maddy focused her sleep-bleared eyes on the foal. "Hey, wait, don't anybody move. I've got to go get my camera. The guys in dance class won't believe it." She was off and running.

  "Well, now that the excitement's over I think I'll just toddle inside and see if I can get Pop to give up some of his boiling water. I'm dying for coffee." Chantel sauntered off, trailing a tantalizing scent behind her.

  "Your family's something," Dylan murmured.

  "Yeah." Abby wiped sweat from her face with her shirtsleeve. "I know."

  When Maddy suggested riding, Abby rearranged her schedule and saddled Judd. Dylan was working and her parents weren't interested, so it would be the three of them, as it so often had been in the past. She watched Maddy adjust a stirrup with breezy confidence before she turned to Chantel.

  "Need some help?"

  "Oh, I think I can manage." Chantel fastened the cinch on the little mare.

  "I didn't think you rode at all." Cautious, Abby rechecked the saddle. "But Matilda here is gentle."

  Chantel adjusted the collar of her blouse. "We'll just poke along."