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“Except that you fell in love with her.”
He snorted. “Don’t try to put any romantic spin on it, okay? I was a horny kid and she was a desperate woman who was hurting. I should never have…oh, hell, what does it matter? It was years ago. And she’s dead.” A muscle worked in his jaw and he took a long swallow from his
beer.
“And you blame yourself?”
“No? Yes? Oh, who knows. She committed suicide because she never got over London’s disappearance, I guess.” He gazed at the fire. “Maybe I played a part in it. Who knows?” He glanced back at her. “But it was odd—the suicide. Katherine…well, she was one of those people who took a big bite out of life, and sure, she was destroyed when her baby disappeared and I guess she was despondent, but she never struck me as the type of person who would actually take her own life.” He shook his head and took a long pull from his bottle. “It always bothered me.”
“Because you loved her.”
“Stop it, Adria. I didn’t love her. Ever. It was just a physical thing that happened.” He turned and glared at her. “If you want to know if it would have continued if Witt hadn’t caught us, who knows? Maybe. Depended on a lot of things. I didn’t want to start something with her, I knew it was trouble, but I was young, randy, and the opportunity presented itself. Every day I wish I’d been a whole lot smarter about it, but, considering what happened today, it looks like I’m still not.”
She gritted her teeth. “Low blow, Danvers.”
“It’s been a day for ’em. And don’t go into this holier-than-thou routine, okay? ’Cuz it just won’t wash. You’re sitting there half condemning me for being with my stepmother and yet you could be my half-sister and it didn’t stop you, did it?”
The album dropped to the floor. “I don’t think we should go there.”
“Not a pretty picture, is it?” He took a swig from his bottle and gnashed his teeth.
Adria felt as if she’d been slapped. She struggled to her feet and backed away from him. “I’m not—”
He moved swiftly, pushing her back onto the couch, placing his hand on either side of her, imprisoning her in the old cushions. His head was so close to hers she could see the pores on his face, smell the beer on his breath. “Isn’t that why you’re here, London? Isn’t that all part of the plan? To prove that you’re my baby sister and—”
“No!” she cried, unwilling to believe what he insisted was the truth. She sprang from the couch and he caught her in arms as strong as steel bands.
“I warned you—”
“You made vague insinuations. But not this. Never this! You could have told me that you…you—”
“That I what?” he said, holding her gaze with his. “That I made love to the woman who could be your mother?”
“That you fell in love with her!” The words cracked through the room like the sharp unleashing of a whip.
“I was not ‘in love’ with her. I already told you. “She was hot, Adria. And I was a horny kid. I don’t have any excuses. It was wrong.”
“So that’s why Witt cut you out of his will.”
His smile was hard. “One of the reasons.”
“Oh, God. How did you ever look him in the eye again?” she asked.
“When she began sleeping with Jason, the old man kind of forgave me. It took a while, but we struck a deal. I got the ranch and he got his old hotel restored like he wanted it.” His fingers cut into her flesh. “You asked why Kat killed herself,” he said. “Because of me. Because of Jason. Because of London and Witt. Because of the curse of being a Danvers—the curse you’re so ready to embrace!”
She shoved away from him, dragging in ragged gulps of air, her eyes as dark as midnight. “Don’t make this any worse than it already is,” she spat and watched as a muscle worked in his jaw. For a minute she thought he might kiss her again and a part of her still wanted to hold him, to kiss him, to make love to him…
“I don’t think it could be,” he said and stormed out of the room and decided to get drunk. No, not just drunk, but stinking, shit-faced, falling-down drunk. He grabbed his coat and strode outside. The temperature had dropped and a few light flakes of snow were beginning to fall. He’d find a woman. A woman without any strings attached. A woman looking for a one-night stand. A woman who wouldn’t even ask him his name.
He slammed the door behind him, rattling the windows.
Manny, despite the cold, was seated in a rocking chair on the porch of a small cabin at one end of the parking lot. A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth and he was whittling as he listened to the transistor radio in the window. He looked up as Zach passed him on the way to his Jeep. “You leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“Looks like you could spit nails.”
“For starters.”
