A Damaged Trust (3 page)

“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” Steven snorted. “You know that. When Dad wants something done, he gets it done. Usually, that is. You’re the exception, you know.”

“I think it’s good for him.” She smiled calmly. “It’s teaching him that there are some things in this world that he just can’t have.” She took a tentative sip of her coffee and shuddered. It was cloyingly sweet.

Steven was watching her face. “I remembered that you take sugar in your coffee,” he said proudly. “Is it all right?”

“Lovely,” she lied, unable to do anything else in the face of his attention. She settled back and tried to force some of the liquid down, but couldn’t. “Tell me,” she spoke quickly, “are you still seeing Denise?”

“Oh, yes. Some things around here never change.” He grinned. “Same old Denise, same old romance.”

“Steven!” Carrie tried to reprimand him in spite of her escaping chuckle, but his grin never changed.

“Speaking of changes, I hear that there’s a new shopping centre opening up in Grand Junction. Mom tells me it’s really going to be something.”

“Oh, it is, all right,” Steven agreed. “There’s going to be eighteen store spaces in all. Not very big, but rather exclusive, if you know what I mean. Most of them will be clothes stores, but there ought to be a sporting goods store and a small bank and probably a restaurant—for the weary shopper and all. Gabe is pushing to get it done as soon as possible so that it’ll be opened by the end of the summer. Dad doesn’t think he'll have it done, but the man’s energy is incredible.”

“Gabe?” asked Carrie, frowning as she searched her memory. “Gabriel Jackson?”

“Do you know him?” Steven asked, interested.

She shook her head. “No. But Dad was mentioning him last night in a half-exasperated way—you know how he does. I take it that Dad doesn’t entirely approve of this fellow. Gabe probably doesn’t fall in with Dad’s opinions like he should! He’s got to be fairly new around here.”

“He came to start up the new shopping centre,” Steven answered. “As far as I know, he wasn’t around before that. If he has been, I’m sure it has only been a flying visit, so to speak. He owns a private plane—s’posed to be rolling in dough.”

Carrie shrugged indifferently. She couldn’t care less. All her life she had been given anything she had ever needed, and the idea of having money was no stranger to her. The Metcalfes were not what one would call “poor” by any means. Even when her father had cut off her allowance, she had been lucky to have the combination of talent, chance, and knowing the right people. She had never really suffered or lacked for anything.

“Do you know if he plans on staying in the area?” she asked idly. Steven drained his coffee mug before replying.

“He bought some property about fifteen miles from here. Remember the Carroll’s ranch?”

“Sure. He bought that place.”

“Lock, stock and cattle. Plans on keeping up the herd. The Carrolls moved back east.”

“I suppose that’s no great loss.” Carrie had never liked the Carroll family; they had been too pretentious for her. Steven nodded and shifted his burly body out of the chair, heading for the coffee pot on the counter. He turned around with it.

“More coffee?”

“Yes, please.” She held out her partially empty cup gratefully. It would filter the horrible stuff already in her cup.

The kitchen light, shining down from an overhead fixture, cast shadows on Carrie's thin face, making the slight circles under her eyes more pronounced and showing tense lines in the unhappy way that she held her mouth. It was an unconscious expression, caught by Steven as he glanced at her while pouring coffee into her mug. He put the pot back on its burner and took his seat again, casting another sharp look at her face as she watched her thin hands push the coffee mug gently first one way, then another.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Steven asked very casually, after they had continued to chat about various light things. “How’s life in the big bad Windy City? “

Carrie's face shifted and settled into lines of neutrality as she answered carefully, “Things are fine. My job’s going well, and I’m able to pay the rent.”

Steven was a good deal more shrewd than the rest of the family and he saw something in his sister’s eyes that shouldn’t have been there. “Something wrong, kitten? You don’t look so convincing to me.”

She shrugged, fighting back the urge to cry. It was very hard to keep her face normal. “What could be wrong? My career’s never been better!” It’s my personal life that’s a wreck, she thought bitterly.

“If it’s not your career, then it has got to be something else. You may be able to act convincingly in front of the rest of the family, but you can’t lie to me. Is it a guy?”

Twirling her cup in a circle, Carrie stared into it and tried to reply nonchalantly. “Something like that.” More like, a guy and his wife. The kindliness that Steven was showing her was almost more than she could take. The finger that was tracing the rim of her mug shook.

“What happened, Carrie? You know you can tell me.” Steven leaned forward and stared at her until she looked up, the desperate unhappiness in her eyes striking a deep worry in him. He took her hand in between his and squeezed gently.

“Oh Steven!” Her voice broke appallingly, and she stopped to get it under control, mentally cursing herself. She shrugged, attempting lightness. “There’s really not a whole lot to tell. We met at a friend’s party, he asked me out, and I—I guess I really fell for him. He seemed to like me too, so we saw each other pretty often for a while.” Her eyes began to harden as she now deliberately brought back the painfully recent memories. It alarmed Steven; he had never seen that kind of expression on her face before. It sat heavily on her small features, making her look older, more strained.

“What went wrong for you?” he asked quietly.

She laughed shortly, harshly. “His memory was defective,” she replied flippantly. “You see, he neglected to tell me he was married, that’s all.”

“Oh God. Oh, Carrie—I’m so sorry.”

“Are you?” she asked, the pain inside of her driving her to speak mockingly. “I’m not. At least he had enough decency to tell me—finally—before he, for want of a better word, propositioned me. At least I had enough sense to turn him down.” Barely enough sense. She couldn’t tell him how bitterly ashamed she was for having actually considered Neil’s plea. Carrie wouldn’t tell anyone that. She pulled her hand from Steven’s grasp and his fell to the table discarded. “If you will excuse me, I think I’ll go and have a swim.”

Walking very carefully, she managed to negotiate the stairs as she fought the ache in her chest. I suppose I can be proud of myself, she thought bitterly, for not having fallen down once.

Chapter Two

Back in her room, Carrie sank down on her newly made bed, unsurprised to find her hands shaking slightly. She cursed herself for being a fool, but it made no difference. The pain was still there and the shaking of her hands didn’t go away.

She had come home to escape the memories that had haunted her in Chicago, memories of Neil’s voice, the touch of his hand against the side of her cheek, the smell of his freshly shaven jaw, and the…

“Stop it! Stop it!” She cried out at the ghost that followed her to Colorado. Whirling up and around, she looked about her as if Neil was truly in the same room. “Leave me alone!” Tears formed in her eyes, but she blinked them rapidly away, refusing to give in to her emotion.

The swim. Carrie threw open the top drawer of the dresser where she had unpacked her clothes. She would go and swim, as she had told Steven she would. She would go and swim and swim until she was too tired to think anymore. Then she would soak up some of the wonderful, vibrant, life-giving sun and get some colour in her cheeks. It would do her good.

She changed rapidly. “I love you,” Neil had said, a desperate plea in his voice. She grabbed a fresh towel from the bathroom and drew on a pair of sandals. “God knows, Carrie, if I could divorce Joan, I would. But she’d never give me a divorce, not without kicking up the most God-awful, messiest fuss she could possibly kick up.”

Diving for the door, she ran down the stairs again and made for the back of the house. She would go through the kitchen, she decided. It was quicker. ”…and with my job, I can’t afford that kind of publicity. Politicians have to conform to the American ideal.” She burst out of the back door, leaving it open. Hurrying over to the small group of lounging chairs, she dropped her towel on one, kicking off her sandals as quickly as possible. Moving over to the large and sun-sparkly waters of the swimming pool, she drew up her arms and, without a pause, dived neatly in. “I haven’t slept with her since her accident, Carrie darling. So you see, there’s no way I could be anything but faithful to you.” She started the breast stroke, pulling on the drag of the water as hard as she could, cutting through cleanly. She was a strong swimmer. “I just couldn’t touch her after touching you, anyway, darling. Oh, sweetheart, let me love you—I ache for you. I need you so much.” Carrie had had plenty of practice at swimming, being in the water since she was a baby. It was second nature to her, as much a part of her as riding a horse, or driving. She felt a confidence in the water that most people never do. She was sure and happy in the water, never with any kind of fear of drowning or being sucked under, a nightmare that most people submerge deep in their subconscious. She knew she could make it, in the water.

She swam lap after lap without resting. She felt her muscles begin to take some strain, but she didn’t stop. It felt as good as if she had cried the storm of tears that she would never let fall. It smoothed away the terrible tension and eased the unhappy feeling; soon she was thinking only about the joy that she felt in her own body’s power and the speed she was able to maintain.

Her breath was beginning to come short. She wasn’t as fit as she used to be. Carrie remembered when she could dive into the water and swim as much as fifty to a hundred laps without pausing or tiring, but those days were gone. She wasn’t quite sure, but she knew she couldn’t have swum more than fifteen or twenty, if that.

It was time to quit. She felt the ache in her muscles becoming more pronounced and knew that if she didn’t stop soon, she would be hobbling later.

Pulling up to the side of the pool, she hung on to the edge and gasped for breath. After she was sure that she wouldn’t do anything stupid like pass out from lack of oxygen, she carefully hauled herself to a sitting position on the pool’s edge, and suddenly found herself standing as two strong hands plucked her up and put her on her feet. Unbidden, the thought of the day before and the similar feeling of moving through air, when a tall stranger had put her behind him so that he could help her with her flat tyre, came to mind. It couldn’t be. She knew it couldn’t be, and yet she whirled with a gasp. It was, of course, only her father, and she felt a fool.

Cliff asked, looking down at his daughter with a smile, “How would you like to go riding with me after lunch?”

“That sounds really nice,” she agreed pleasantly. “And it will give us a nice chance to talk.”

“Yes, well.” Cliff looked around, his eyes crinkled in a squint against the already bright sun. “I guess I’d better head on into the office. Janet has some papers she says won’t wait another day.” He sighed. Carrie had to hide a grin of amusement, for she knew how much her father hated the paperwork involved with running a large ranch like the Metcalfes’.

She said suddenly, “Let me walk you back, Dad, and I’ll give you a hand with the typing if you like.”

He said gruffly, “Thanks for
the offer, Carrie, but we’ve hired a girl from town for part-time help and she’s due to get here around noon. She takes care of the typing and filing.”

“That should be a great help for Mom.”

“It was her idea to begin with. Now she’s got herself all immersed in plans for a barbecue next week.” Cliff spoke with some degree of smugness. He couldn’t see the sense in dinner parties and only attended them under protest. It was one subject that his wife held the upper hand in, for attend them he did, right beside her and under her watchful eye. It was a thoroughly miserable experience for the man, so Janet relented as far as her own entertaining went, and she faithfully stuck to barbecues, something that Cliff did enjoy. He didn’t have to put on a suit.

Carrie chuckled. “Maybe she needs help with that, then. I have to find something to do with myself—I thought I’d want a vacation, but on my first day, I’m already looking for things to do!” Her smile faded as she thought of just why she needed to keep her mind so busy. She needed to keep from thinking of what was now the past.

They walked as they talked, nearing the house, and just before going in, Cliff put a detaining hand on Carrie’s arm. She looked up, a question in her eyes.

“Er—” Sounding embarrassed, he cleared his throat and stared at the ground. “D’you feel like keeping the Porsche? Have you thought about it much yet?”

Carrie watched her father thoughtfully. A few months ago, Cliff had made a trip to Chicago to stay overnight for a short visit with her and, on the next day, he had come into the apartment with a gleaming new key. The car had been parked outside. He had insisted that Carrie keep the car for a little while to see if she liked it or not, and to have a chance to decide if she wanted to keep it. She had known what he had wanted to do; the car was a peace offering, a conciliatory gesture for their past conflicts. It was the closest that Cliff would ever be able to come to saying he was sorry for the harsh things that he had said as she had left the house for the last time, with her things.

She was even more sure when Cliff asked her, a trace of sheepishness in his voice, not to tell anyone where she came by the car, not even the rest of the family. It would never do to have the others find out, she saw how his reasoning went, for then he would have to admit the possibility of him being in the wrong once in a while, thus undermining his authority in his own home. She privately thought it was all a little ridiculous.

The gift did reveal, however, her father’s genuine desire to return to a more natural and easy relationship with his daughter, and she knew it. It was much more than just an expensive car; it was a promise, and a token of affection. She realized that if she rejected the car, then she would be rejecting Cliff too, and this made her pause to consider all the implications more deeply. Seeing Cliff as he was at the moment, with head a little bent and eyes averted, she suddenly sensed a vulnerability in her father that as a child she had never really seen. In spite of the past and their many differences, he truly cared.