Redemption road, p.9
Redemption Road, page 9
“But my dad was a man of integrity. He wanted to make a difference, so he joined the Secret Service out of college and worked his way up. He protected two presidents.” Her voice held a note of pride.
“Really?” Duncan asked, his pencil never stopping. “That would explain how he knows Atticus.”
Hattie nodded. “And then he went into the private sector and the money was everything my mother always expected. But there was a downside. He was gone a lot, and my mother was embarrassed by what he did because he actually worked for a living instead of trotting after her all over the world while she fulfilled the socialite lifestyle. So I got stuck with a nanny. When he came back home he had no clue where she was, or who the woman watching me was. I was six years old, and he decided things had to change. That’s when he met Atticus.”
“He sounds like a great man,” Duncan said, shading in around her mouth. Her smile had softened as she was talking about her father, and he wanted to capture the sweetness.
“He was,” she agreed.
“Did your mother ever come back?” he asked.
The smile disappeared and frown lines marred her face. “Eventually,” she said, and left it at that. “She’s never been part of my life. Not unless she had an agenda.”
“You’re angry at her,” he said.
“Oh, yes,” she told him. “Very. And I’m thankful every day she’s out of my life.”
He turned to a new page in his sketchbook. The light had changed and a soft afternoon drizzle had started to fall. It wouldn’t last long. It never did. But he changed the focus of his new drawing to her face—from those bedroom eyes to the sexy mole at the corner of her mouth.
“How’d you break your nose?” he asked, rubbing the tip of his finger on the crooked line he’d just drawn.
“Car wreck,” she said automatically, but her voice had gone flat. She didn’t volunteer the fact that Derek had been driving them home from a party, far too drunk to be behind the wheel of a car. He’d been in a mood and wouldn’t let anyone talk him out of driving, and none of the crowd he ran with tried very hard anyway.
He’d been angry and belligerent because he’d seen a man talking to her at the party, and he was sure she was having an affair with him. It hadn’t seemed to matter that Derek was making the accusation with another woman’s lipstick on his collar from a quick tryst he’d had in the bathroom. And it didn’t matter that the man he accused had only been asking if she wanted a refill on her drink.
Derek had railed at her the entire way home, his anger growing until she saw stars from the backhand he gave her. That was what broke her nose, but it had only been seconds later that he’d smashed the car into a light pole. It had been easy enough to blame the broken nose on the car wreck.
“I didn’t mean to make you sad,” he said, noting the change in her expression.
“It’s in the past,” she said. “What about your parents? I don’t even need to ask if you’re close. It’s obvious your entire family is close.”
“Oh, sure,” he said. “But my parents are special. I never take it for granted. Our land has been in the family since the late 1800s. My dad took some time after college to decide if ranch life was really what he wanted, so he and some friends decided to travel across the States. When they got to New York he just happened to see my mother in a performance of Kiss Me Kate on Broadway, and it was love at first sight.”
He stopped sketching to grin at her. “I told you it runs in the family.”
She rolled her eyes and her cheeks pinkened again, but she didn’t say anything.
“My mom gave up her career to come back here with my dad, but she’s never regretted it and she’s as much a part of this town as anyone who has multiple generations of family from Laurel Valley.”
“That’s nice,” Hattie said softly. “That she didn’t resent your dad or her children because of what she lost.”
“She found something new instead,” Duncan said. “She’s a brilliant lyricist, and has won several Tonys and an Emmy for some of the music she’s written. Howard and O’Hara are as popular today as Rodgers and Hammerstein.”
Hattie’s mouth formed a silent O and then she said, “I guess I didn’t put it together. I know your mother’s work well.”
“She’ll be glad to hear it,” he said, grinning. “She does have an ego.”
“It appears creative talent runs deep in your family.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I have an ego too.”
“I’ve heard about that over the last couple of weeks,” she said. “Eccentric, temperamental, brilliant, demanding, meticulous, generous, compassionate…your family knows you well.”
“Ha,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve gotten an earful. My family does not hold back what they’re thinking. Especially if they think there will be another wedding at the end of it. Don’t let them pressure you. I’ve told them everything has to be on your terms.”
Hattie decided the best way to handle Duncan’s talk of the future they might have together was to ignore it altogether. “They say you’re a hermit. And they miss you when you’re not around.”
“I know,” he said. “But it’s hard to explain. I love them. And I can’t imagine not having them within easy reach. But I like being on my own. I need to be on my own. My talent is a gift, yes, but it can be difficult to pull the emotions I put on canvas out of the depths of my soul. It doesn’t always make me someone people want to be around.”
“I think they understand you more than you think they do,” she said. “They love you fiercely. That is easy to see. Especially since I’ve been asked questions even my doctor doesn’t ask so they know that I won’t break your heart. Apparently, someone named Jenna left a bad taste in their mouths.”
Duncan rolled his eyes and blew out an aggravated breath. “It would’ve been nice if someone had spoken up while I was with Jenna.”
“Would you have listened?”
His smile was a quick slash across his face and she thought in that moment he looked something of a pirate. “Of course not. I’ve been told my head is as hard as the Blarney Stone.”
She chuckled. “But you never married?”
“No,” he said. “That would have been a disaster. At least with Jenna. But when you see the relationship my parents and brothers have, and the relationships my aunt and uncle and cousins have, it sets a pretty high standard. It’s not worth settling for anything less.”
“Hmm,” she said, looking down at her hands nervously.
And then she looked back up and his breath caught. She was beautiful. Despite the strength she showed the world there was a raw vulnerability about her that made him want to protect her. And in her gaze was something else…
Longing? Hope? Love? Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part. But he wouldn’t be able to paint her any other way.
“It’s raining,” she said, never breaking eye contact.
He put the sketch pad and pencils aside and slowly got to his feet, making his moves deliberate so she had plenty of time to tell him to stay where he was. But she didn’t. She just stared at him with those slumberous eyes, her pulse hammering in her neck.
His body vibrated with energy, and he held his hand out to her, waiting for her to take it. And when she did, he pulled her to her feet, so their bodies barely brushed. They were almost eye to eye, and her lids fluttered closed as he moved closer, so close he could feel her breath across his lips.
Her hands came up and rested on his chest, and her head dropped back the slightest bit. That was all the invitation he needed. His mouth pressed against hers with a gentleness that surprised him. He wanted to breathe her, taste her, become one with her. But he sensed the timidness in her own kiss and knew she needed something softer, sweeter.
He danced with her, holding her flush against his body as the rain fell softly around them. He took the kiss deeper, swallowing her gasp of surprise, and he wound his fingers through the thick length of her hair.
The sweetness of it surprised him. It was like coming home—like being starved and walking into a banquet—or like thirsting in the desert and coming upon an oasis. She was the missing piece of his soul he’d never realized he needed. His painting had always filled that part of him. But it never would have filled him completely. But now he knew and there was no turning back. She was his present and his future.
Chapter Eleven
Hattie couldn’t remember a time in her life where she’d felt so content.
She’d never felt such joy. Such love. She’d not really understood what the word meant—not until Duncan.
They fell into a comfortable rhythm, and if the memories of her past haunted her from time to time, it was easy to push them away when Duncan was near. They spent their days working, and their evenings were spent talking or hiking or eating out with friends or family.
And the longer they went, the more she felt the dread in her stomach as she waited for the other shoe to drop. He wanted more. She could tell he did. His family talked about their future as if it were inevitable, and Duncan never protested. He spoke of having his brother Hank draw up plans to expand his home, and flashes of a little girl with her father’s eyes and a little boy with Hattie’s pale hair filled her mind. Those were dreams she couldn’t afford to have, but she couldn’t bring herself to squelch the joy she saw on Duncan’s face with the truth of her circumstances.
She loved him. There was no doubt about that. And they talked about everything—goals, hopes, dreams, and the future. They talked of his past and his family. The O’Haras were deeply rooted in Laurel Valley, and remembering the legacy of past generations was obviously important to all of them. There was a deep pride and love of family that she’d never understand.
But there was one subject she’d diverted with expertise—and that was her own past. She’d give away nuggets of truth, remembering what Atticus had told her. But she’d learned how to redirect questions and take the attention from herself when the questions got too personal.
Duncan watched her closely during those moments, and she knew he was waiting for her to come clean. To tell him about her past and why she’d come to Laurel Valley. One thing she’d learned about Duncan during their time together was that he wasn’t a stupid man. He saw things in people that often went overlooked. He saw something deep within her that she wasn’t ready to reveal, and it made her nervous because once that layer of her soul was exposed there was no going back.
And if she was honest with herself, it wasn’t just that she didn’t want Duncan to dig beneath those layers of who she was, but it was also that she wasn’t ready to face the woman she’d been. Those were wounds that were still raw. And maybe there was a small part of her that wondered if he’d still love her if he knew the truth.
And there was part of her that wondered if the past mattered at all—if she could keep it all buried for the rest of her life and have no regrets. Those moments were the angel and devil sitting on each of her shoulders. And the irony didn’t go past her notice that every time she drove along Tribulation Pass to get to her tiny cabin, the angel and the devil showed up, whispering in her ears.
She needed to talk to Atticus, to see what could be done to untangle the mess of her past life. She’d gotten to know all the O’Haras during the months she’d spent in Laurel Valley, and it was impossible not to love them. Duncan’s mom had even found her a reliable used SUV for the winter and showed her how to put chains on the tires. They treated her like she was one of their own, and they were the big extended family she’d always longed for as a child.
Being in Laurel Valley was a dream come true. She couldn’t have imagined a more perfect picture of her life—if it had been her real life. Even her first Idaho winter hadn’t deterred her, much to Duncan’s surprise. It wasn’t a New York winter, that was for sure. She loved the snow. Loved watching it fall from her second-story office at the sporting goods store, and she loved sitting on her or Duncan’s back porch with the fire pit lit while wrapped in a blanket as snow fell onto the lake.
This was her home. And she never wanted to be anywhere else.
But she really needed to talk to Atticus. Duncan wasn’t being as subtle about their future together as he’d once been. He was a traditional man from a traditional family. She knew it was only a matter of time before he asked her to marry him. And she wanted that more than anything she’d ever wanted in her entire life. But she wasn’t prepared how to answer him if he asked.
Atticus normally traveled frequently, making stops at the Dynamis Security offices in Dallas, Washington, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, London, and Rome. But since his wife’s murder, he’d stuck close to home to be with his daughter while she recovered from the same attempt that had been made on her life. They’d even missed Christmas with the family, opting to stay in Dallas instead.
But the word through the O’Hara network was that Atticus was due to arrive at any moment, and there was going to be a big family dinner that night at “the barn” since that was the only place big enough to hold the entire family. Since the O’Haras seemed to have family reunions at fairly regular intervals since everyone was close, Hattie had been to “the barn” on more than one occasion, and it wasn’t like any barn she’d ever seen, though her mother still would’ve looked her nose down at it despite the thoroughbreds that were being raised and bred in the functional barn right next door to it.
But “the barn” had been built with family in mind, more like a private restaurant or a club, with lots of seating, a bar, a stage and dance floor, and a gourmet kitchen. Not to mention the loft upstairs with a full-fledged movie theater and seats, plus pool tables, ping-pong tables, and every class arcade game. The O’Hara grandkids loved to have their birthday parties at “the barn.”
“We’re going to be late,” Hattie said to Winston, looking at the clock on the wall.
Winston shook his head in disgust, being a timely fellow himself, and padded off to lie on the rug in front of the fireplace.
“A lot of help you are,” Hattie said. “You could go upstairs and get him, but you’re too chicken to interrupt him when he’s working.”
Winston sniffed delicately and turned his head away.
She could hear the quiet bass of the music playing overhead in Duncan’s studio, and she chewed her bottom lip nervously. They were supposed to be there at six, and it was already twenty till. It was hard to break him away when he was in that zone, and she’d learned quickly to give him his space when he was working. But he’d promised they’d be there, so she thought it best to give him a reminder.
O’Hara dinners were a casual affair, so she wore leggings and a thick sweater the color of plums. Her waterproof boots were laced up to the middle of her shins and lined with soft fur.
She crept up the stairs, peeking around the landing to observe before she entered his domain. He stood in front of his canvas, the muscles in his back rigid, but he moved the brush with such delicate strokes.
She didn’t call out. His concentration was so fierce he wouldn’t have heard her anyway. Instead, she crept the rest of the way up and waited for the chance to break in. But there was a long table pushed in the corner that caught her eye. Several of his drawings had been laid out, but they were all of her.
It amazed her how he saw her. She didn’t look like that, not really, but he made her so much more when he put her on paper. There were hundreds of drawings with a myriad of expressions on her face.
Stacked around the table were canvases of every shape and size. Again, her face and body were the subject. But where the drawings were literal interpretations, he’d used the paintings to create his own visions. There were several of her wearing armor and holding a sword, covered in battle scars and someone else’s blood. And there were others painted in watercolor that were so delicate and ethereal it looked like she might come out of the canvas as an apparition.
It was exceptional work. She had enough of an eye to recognize it. And no one would ever see it but the two of them.
Her eye kept going back to the painting of her in armor on the battlefield. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. The woman who stood in that portrait never would have married Derek. She never would have put up with the anger and abuse. She was a woman who’d face her enemies head-on and without remorse.
“It’s my favorite,” he said, startling her from her thoughts. “I’m going to do an entire series in oils. I think it will be the finest work I’ve ever done.”
“Duncan,” she said, turning around to meet his gaze.
“The image of you in that scene came to mind the second you fell into my arms. The sight of you literally took my breath away. I went and got my sketch pad and spent the next two days drawing you from memory. I dreamed about you. I know it sounds crazy, but you were as real to me in those dreams as you were in the following weeks when I was actually with you.
“I don’t know if you believe that something like this is even possible, but I believe you were sent here for a reason. I knew I was going to love you from the moment we met. I wasn’t happy about it,” he said, his mouth quirking slightly. “But I knew it was true. And once I got to know you I realized I’d do whatever it took to keep you. Even if it meant leaving Laurel Valley.”
“But I love it here,” she said, her voice catching. “This is my home.”
“That’s just an added bonus,” he said, smiling.
He looked like he’d just fought a battle, as he often did when he was working, and she said, “You should paint yourself like you are right now. Next to me on the battlefield. You’re a striking figure.”
“I’ve been known to do a self-portrait from time to time,” he said. “But I’m guessing you came up here for a reason other than paying me compliments? Not that I’m complaining.”
