Moorehouse Legacy: Beauty and the Black Sheep Part 21

He captured her hands. "I phrased it badly before, but you really can't live your life for your family. Staying here and working yourself to the bone isn't going to bring your parents back."

She stood up and he let her go. "I know that."

"Do you?" he prompted quietly.

Going over to a window, she looked out at the lake. She couldn't expect him to understand. He'd turned his back on his family because they couldn't accept who he was. Worse, he'd been burned tragically by his a.s.sociation with the Walker name. So there was little possibility he could appreciate how much her sister and Grand-Em and White Caps meant to her.

But then his words came back to her. If she lived her life only for her family, what did she really have that was her own?

h.e.l.l, maybe she was the one with the problem. Maybe she was totally blinded by the past. Incapable of seeing her future.

"Frankie, I'm not sure you get it."

"Maybe you're right."

And for the first time, she tried to peel away from her vow to her sister and her responsibility for Grand-Em and the weight of keeping White Caps going. She just breathed in and out while staring at the water, trying to let go of her regrets.

Knowledge came slowly, but it was the deep kind, the in-your-soul kind. White Caps wasn't just home, a relic to her family. It was also where she herself belonged.

She turned around. "The thing is, I love it here. I truly do. I might have some fantasy about what life in the big city would be like, but the thrill of that would pa.s.s. When I was younger, when I was with David, it was different. I was different. But I've found my rhythm, I really have. And it's in the seasons of this place."

How funny that she was just figuring that out now. Tonight.

"I don't want to stop seeing you," he said, staring at her hard.

She closed her eyes. So it wasn't just business for him, not just casual s.e.x. She felt the bones in her body loosen and realized she'd been carrying around so much tension. There had been so many words unspoken, feelings unrevealed. Until now.

"Oh, Nate. I don't want things to end, either."

She heard him rise from the chair, the wood creaking as his weight was lifted.

"I didn't expect to get emotionally attached to you," he said in his deep voice. G.o.d, she loved that rumbling sound.

She looked up at him. "Neither did I."

He smiled and bent down, his lips brushing hers. "You know, there's an express train that runs from Albany to New York."

"And planes fly back and forth all the time," she murmured.

He kissed her and she eased against his body. He was so solid, so warm, his arms tightening around her, holding her close.

But even as she said the words, she knew she didn't believe in their future. Long distance was hard, especially when one person was starting a whole new business. And the other was trying to keep an old one afloat. Distance meant stilted phone calls and missed connections and messages left on machines. It meant exhausted conversations at the end of hard nights. And gradual loss.

She'd been through it before. And though Nate was nothing like David, the toll would be taken. In the real world, daily life was inexorable, capable of wearing away the best of intentions, the most ardent of hearts, like water over stone.

He pulled back. "You look grim."

She smoothed his cheek with her palm. "Let's not talk about the future. Take me upstairs to my bed and make love to me."

Nate stared up at the ceiling as Frankie slept.He had told no one about Celia. Even Spike didn't have the full story.

He'd kept what had happened to himself because it hurt to put words to the events. And because he so regretted not having read the situation better. He should have known by the disgusted look on Celia's face when he'd told her he wasn't a wealthy guy that she was capable of doing something awful. He'd just a.s.sumed that because she wasn't a rich man's daughter that she wouldn't care about money.

A fatal miscalculation.

Absently, he stroked Frankie's arm. She'd been so d.a.m.n supportive. But she was like that. Loyal. Fiercely protective of those she cared about.

She reminded him of Spike.

He thought about his friend and their plans. While Frankie had been out in the garden weeding this afternoon, Spike had called with bad news. The place they'd been talking about hadn't panned out because they just couldn't make the money work. It would be a terrible mistake to try and get a new joint off the ground while being too strapped with debt.

Nate knew what they were up against. Ninety percent of new restaurants closed their doors within a year. But if his first attempt didn't work, he was prepared to wh.o.r.e himself out to a celebrity joint for the next five years, ama.s.s another nest egg and try again. Spike was likewise too pigheaded to take failure seriously.

G.o.d, they'd waited so long to make their mark. They'd sweated over blistering hot stoves and flaming grills, had worked double and triple shifts through burned hands and backs that ached. They'd honed their craft and paid their dues.

Their shot was going to come. It just had to.

Frankie stirred in her sleep, letting out a soft sigh of contentment as she snuggled in close.

Nate closed his eyes. When she'd told him she didn't want to talk about the future, he'd known exactly what the bleak expression on her face had meant. She was a realist, not a romantic. And she knew what it took to be in business for yourself. You didn't have a lot of discretionary time for outside relationships. Especially long distance ones.

As he thought about the future, Labor Day loomed on the horizon like a thief. Leaving Frankie was going to be hard.

Nate turned his head and breathed in the scent of her shampoo and her skin.

Leaving Frankie was going to kill him.

Chapter Fourteen.

T he next morning, Frankie knocked softly on her brother's door. "Alex?"

The response was slow in coming, delivered in a low tone. "Yeah."She shifted the tray in her hand. "I brought you a little breakfast."

There was a grunt and a shuffling sound. The door opened.

His beard had grown in overnight, darkening his jaw and cheeks, and his hair was roughed up. He had on a pair of shorts that hung off his hips and there were bruises on his chest, black and blue ones dark enough to show through his tan.

"Thanks." He took the tray, but didn't invite her in.

She watched with a hollow pit in her stomach as he put the food down on the bureau and limped back to bed. He was too big for the twin mattress, his feet hanging off the end, and he seemed equally out of place in the room. The America's Cup posters of his teenage years had faded, the model ships he'd built with their father had sagging sails now. He was a man in a boy's s.p.a.ce and it struck her as odd that she'd never thought of redecorating his room. Although it wasn't as if she'd had the money.

And she supposed a part of her had wanted to keep it as it was. The remains of a brother she never really expected to come back home.

"Do you need anything?" She stepped inside and that was when she saw a bottle of scotch on the floor, within easy reach of his hand. It was half empty.

He eyed her darkly as if he didn't want her to come any closer. "Nope."

The answer wasn't a surprise, and since bringing him something to eat hadn't been the only reason she'd come, she wasn't going to p.u.s.s.yfoot around. He appeared on the verge of ordering her out the door. "Do you need help getting to the funeral?"

He looked away, to one of the windows. "No."

"When is it?"

"I don't know."

"Have you talked to Reese's wife?"

"Widow. Ca.s.sandra's a widow now."

Frankie closed her eyes. Reese Cutler had been Alex's partner for years and she'd met the man once or twice. He was-had been-an industrial engineer who'd made millions and millions building manufacturing plants for the likes of Ford and GM. His widow, Ca.s.sandra, had been his second wife and nearly half his age, if Frankie remembered correctly.

"I'm sure she'd appreciate hearing from you."

Alex's voice was bitter. "Yeah, if I were her, I'd be in a big hurry to talk to me."

"Weren't you friends?"

"Frankie, don't take this the wrong way, but back off, okay?" His face contorted as he moved the leg with the cast to another position.

She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry that it took...what happened to get you home. But I'm so glad you're here and I hope you'll stay for a while. I've missed you. Joy has, too. You were always her hero."

"She needs to pick a new one."

"Alex, we love you. Please remember that."

Not expecting a response, she headed for the door.

"Frankie?"

She glanced over her shoulder. His head was still turned to the wall.

"I have to go to the orthopedic surgeon. They want me eval'ed for surgery on my leg. The bone might have to be replaced by a metal rod."

She winced and wondered what that would do to his sailing career. "When?"

"Tomorrow afternoon in Albany. Can you take me?"

"Of course."

"Thanks."

She closed the door.

"How's he doing?" Nate asked from the head of the stairs.

"Not well, but I don't know how badly. He's not a big talker."

They went down to the kitchen.

"Would you mind coming with us to Albany tomorrow?" she asked. "He has to get his leg looked at. To be honest, I'm a fainter when it comes to mixing family with physicians. When Joy had her wisdom teeth out in the hospital, I hit the floor twice."

Nate kissed her. "No problem. I'm glad you asked."

Alex opened his eyes the moment the door closed. Frankie's concern was well-intended, but it rubbed him raw.There was no way in h.e.l.l he was going to the funeral. He wanted to pay his respects, but he just couldn't look Ca.s.sandra in the face. Then again, he never really had been able to do that.

Which was what happened when you fell in love with your best friend's wife.

G.o.d, Ca.s.sandra. He could remember so clearly the first moment he saw her. He and Reese had been coming in from a race down to Bermuda and back. As they'd pulled into the Narragansett Bay Yacht Club's dock, Reese had waved at a woman who was jogging lithely toward them.

"That's my wife," he'd said with pride.

"When did you get married again?" Alex had asked.

"Haven't done the ceremony yet, but she's my wife all right. And I'm going to make this one stick."

Alex had had an impression of long red hair and a perfectly proportioned female body, but that was as far as he got. As she'd leaped up into Reese's arms, he'd looked away as a shock of pure l.u.s.t and heat shot through him.

That day, that moment of seeing her in the setting sun, her hair flashing copper in the fading light, had marked him. He'd never understood how it was possible to be obsessed with someone you didn't know, but then it had happened to him.

Over the years, he'd learned more about Ca.s.sandra, though he'd never prompted his friend to talk. Reese had spoken easily enough and on his own about his wife. There had been plenty of stories about her accomplishments as an architect, the parties she threw, the small, intimate things she did. And Alex had only wanted more of the peeks into her world, even though he'd felt like h.e.l.l obsessing about her. It had been so hard to be reduced to a voyeur, a greedy, sneaky b.a.s.t.a.r.d who was a parasite on someone else's marriage. The guilt had been tremendous.

And then it had all gotten worse.

He'd thought he was alone on the boat. He'd honestly believed Reese and Ca.s.sandra had left. Which was the only reason he'd stepped out into the cabin, naked and drying his hair with a towel after a shower.

When a shocked gasp behind him cut through his solitude, he'd looked over his shoulder. Ca.s.sandra was in the galley kitchen, in the midst of filling up a gla.s.s with lemonade. As her eyes had traveled down his body, she'd spilled the stuff all over the counter.

G.o.d, even now the memory of her stare was enough to stir him.

As he'd cursed and covered his a.s.s with the towel, she'd stammered an apology, but he hadn't heard much of it. All he'd been thinking of was, thank G.o.d he hadn't turned around. Because then she would have seen the monstrous erection that had popped up the instant she'd looked at him.

He'd gone back into the head, braced his arms on the tiny sink and tried to remember how to breathe. When he'd come back out ten minutes later, she was gone. And after that, he'd quickly changed the subject whenever Reese had talked about her. At one point, a couple months later, his friend had asked him whether or not he had a problem with Ca.s.sandra. Alex had prevaricated and Reese had never brought her up again.

In the information vacuum, Alex had hoped to lose interest, but his fixation hadn't needed fresh news or sightings to thrive. He'd continued to think of her, particularly at sunset when he was out on the ocean and the tips of the waves were tinted the color of copper.

And his guilt, like his obsession, had continued to burn.

He knew she was a fantasy. She had to be. No one was as perfect as the image he'd constructed in his mind.

But he wasn't ever going to find out the truth of who she was. How she kissed. How she made love. As far as he was concerned, Reese's widow was as untouchable as Reese's wife had been.

Especially considering what had happened out in that storm.