Amanda (34 page)

A
MANDA HUNG UP THE PHONE AND
stared down at it, frowning. She had thought she knew every variant Walker’s voice was capable of producing, but never had she heard him sound so … emotionless. As if all the feeling had been squeezed out of him.

“Amanda? Is anything wrong?” Kate came into the front parlor, where Amanda had taken Walker’s call, and looked at her quizzically.

It was Monday afternoon, it was raining buckets outside, and the two women were alone in the house, since Maggie had gone with Jesse to the Daulton Industries office building, which was some miles outside Daulton.

“What? Oh—no, nothing’s wrong. Walker wants me to come into town.”

“Austin can drive you,” Kate told her. “Just press
the button for the garage, and tell him when you want to leave.”

“Thanks, I will.” Amanda looked at the older woman for a moment, wishing she didn’t feel so wary of everyone now. “it’s a rotten day for a drive, though.”

“I think we’re getting our spring rains late. The ground’s getting so saturated, We’ll be lucky if we don’t have flooding by the middle of the week.” Kate’s perfect features tightened suddenly in a spasm of pain.

“Are you all right?” Amanda asked quickly.

“Mmm.” After a moment, Kate smiled. “Cramps. The pill doesn’t do a damned thing about them, unfortunately.”

“You too?” Amanda shook her head ruefully. “When my doctor put me on them to regulate my cycle, I thought I’d be home free. But the only difference is that now the cramps come like clockwork.”

Kate sat down at the neat secretary near one of the windows, where she did the books for Glory. “it’s the curse of being a Daulton woman,” she said absently, opening a ledger and beginning to check a column of numbers against a stack of receipts. “Irregular cycles, hormonal imbalances, and the tendency to flirt with the idea of becoming an axe murderer one week out of most every month.”

Amanda knew she should get ready and call Austin to drive her into town, but she hesitated, drawn by a rare feeling of sisterhood. “Have you tried B-complex vitamins? They work for me. Now I’m only tempted to maim every once in a while instead of every month, and I’ve actually stopped glaring murderously at total strangers in supermarket checkout lines.”

Kate sent her a quick smile. “Helen suggested them —and they do work pretty well.”

Amanda sat down on the arm of one of the sofas and said, “Is it a Daulton trait? I mean, the hormonal problems?”

“According to Helen it is. She has all the medical records for the townspeople, going back over a hundred and fifty years. And apparently, Daulton women have always been at the mercy of their hormones. Medical science can correct the problems nowadays, thank God; it must have been hell a hundred years ago. Can you imagine what it must have been like? Bursting hormones on a sweltering July day?”

Amanda shuddered. “Those poor women.”

“I’ll say.” Kate nodded, and then looked thoughtful. “You know, it’s no wonder so many people were convinced there was a strain of madness in this family. Between the wild mood swings of the women and the obsessiveness of the men—we probably
did
seem a little mad.”

“The obsessiveness of the men?”

Kate looked at her for a long moment, then spoke slowly. “You won’t find it written in all the magazine or newspaper articles, the history books—but there is a kind of madness in the Daulton men, Amanda. It usually happens only once in their lives, rarely twice— but it always happens. When they give their heart, whatever—or whoever—they love becomes their obsession. If it’s a woman, she’s loved with an intense, possessive jealousy—and in the past was often kept here at Glory, isolated and usually pregnant.”

“The way my mother was isolated here?” Amanda said.

Again, Kate hesitated. But then she answered quietly. “Yes. Brian had two obsessive loves in his life, Amanda. Christine—and riding. He more or less gave up riding for six months every year to spend most of his time with her; for the other months, he had to ride.
Leaving her here was his way of making sure she didn’t … get interested in anyone else.”

“And if she had? What would he have done? How did this … madness show itself?”

With a detachment that made her words all the more dreadful, Kate said, “Daulton men have been killing other males over women for generations. It was usually hushed up, of course, or labeled self-defense— or something else, something to satisfy the curious and win the sheriff a few more sure votes in the next election.”

“you’re not serious.”

Kate smiled. “Entirely. Like I said, Daulton men are obsessive when they love. It’s in the genes, like black hair and gray eyes. A kind of berserk fury that takes hold of them when they face a threat to whatever they love. According to family folklore, a Daulton man quite literally loses his mind for whatever length of time it takes him to destroy his rival; he doesn’t see or hear anything else, and often doesn’t afterward remember what he did. But … it takes blood to sate his rage.”

Is that what happened that night?
Amanda wondered.
Is that why Christine Daulton left Glory—because she was terrified of her husband learning of her affair? Or because he
had
found out and she knew what he would do?

“God, that’s awful,” Amanda said aloud.

Kate nodded, but then shrugged a little. “Ancient history, of course. Even Daulton men are more civilized in these modern times. Take Sully, for instance. He’s very much a Daulton, but … his obsession is Glory; any woman he cares about won’t have to worry about him losing his mind over her. He’s free to love a woman with all his heart and none of his rage.”

But what would he do to someone who tried to take Glory away from him?
Amanda couldn’t help but wonder.

“What about Reece?” is what she asked.

“Reece isn’t a Daulton,” Kate replied with unexpected flatness. “Oh—genetically. But not in any of the ways that count.”

Since Amanda had felt that to be true, she couldn’t argue. Still, it was a conversation she wanted to continue, and only a glance at her watch kept her from doing so.

“Damn—I’ve got to go change.”

“I’ll call Austin for you,” Kate offered. “How soon do you want to leave?”

“Ten minutes. Thanks, Kate.” Amanda hurried from the room, her thoughts turning once again to Walker and the odd tonelessness of his voice when he’d asked her to come to his office.

What was wrong?

All the way to town, Amanda worried over it. He had been fine when he’d brought her back to Glory Sunday evening—by car, since it had been raining still. They had spent most of the day in his bed, and if he hadn’t said a single word about her declaration of love, he had at least left her in no doubt that he wanted her more than ever.

So what could have happened between yesterday evening and this afternoon to squeeze all the feeling out of his voice? And why had he asked her to come to his office rather than wait until this evening, when they would—surely would—see each other?

The town of Daulton, miserable in the rain, was practically deserted on this Monday afternoon. Amanda got out in front of Walker’s office building,
after telling Austin that he could return to Glory, and went quickly inside. She met no one in the lobby or on the stairs, and when she reached the outer office on the second floor, it was to find Walker’s secretary away from her desk.

She hesitated, then went to the door to the inner office and knocked softly. She opened it and stuck her head in with a smile. “Hi,” she said to Walker, who was behind his desk.

“Come in,” he said. “Close the door behind you.”

Amanda knew with the first word out of his mouth that whatever was wrong—it was bad. Very bad. His voice wasn’t merely squeezed of feeling; it was deadened.

She came in slowly, pushing the door shut behind her, and crossed the spacious room to his desk. That old oak desk, which had always seemed so big to her, now seemed to spread out for acres. For miles. Behind it, he was very still.

“Walker, what’s wrong?”

“Sit down.”

After a moment, she did. And braced herself, pulling on a mask of calm. If he wanted it like this, strangers across a desk, then fine. She could do that. No matter how much it hurt, she could do it.

He opened a thick file on his blotter and removed a photograph. He closed the file, and pushed the photo across the desk toward her. “Look at that.”

She leaned forward in her chair, picked up the photo, and studied it. A typical school yearbook-type picture, head and shoulders, hazy background. A fair young woman, with pale hair and dark eyes—unusual for a blonde. Pretty, with a smile full of teeth.

“Recognize her?” Walker asked.

Amanda looked across the daunting desk at him, noting the chilly light in his eyes. “Should I?”

“You tell me.”

Amanda shrugged. “Sorry.”

Walker drew a breath and spoke with the first sign of emotion in his voice. Anger. “That is a picture of Amanda Grant. You, supposedly. Senior year in college. According to the vital statistics I finally managed to get my hands on, seven years ago you were blond and brown-eyed, five inches taller, and more than thirty pounds heavier.” He paused, then finished, “Amazing transformation.”

After a moment, Amanda put the photograph on his desk, sat back in her chair, and conjured a faint smile with an effort she hoped didn’t show. “I would have sworn I had covered that base. No pictures available. It was one of the reasons I picked her. Where did you dig it up?”

Walker’s face seemed to be chiseled out of granite. Very cold granite. “I called a private investigator in Boston last Friday, and gave him what little I had. I told him to find me a picture of Amanda Grant. I was lucky; he turned out to be both fast and efficient. When he couldn’t find a yearbook photo, he checked with the school. Amanda Grant had requested no photo be in the yearbook—students often do, for one reason or another—but she did have her picture taken along with everyone else. The school gave my investigator the photographer’s name. I was lucky again; he was in today, and he still had the pictures from that year. The investigator transmitted the photograph to me a couple of hours ago.”

Walker’s smile was thin, hardly worth the effort. “Meet Amanda Grant.”

Amanda shook her head, but kept her small smile. “Who looks nothing like me. Naturally, you find that … suspicious.”

“Suspicious? I find it contemptible. You’ve been lying
through your teeth, lady—and I can prove it now.”

She didn’t flinch away from his harsh tone. “All that picture proves is that I didn’t grow up as Amanda Grant. It doesn’t come close to proving I’m not Amanda Daulton.”

“Why did you lie about it?”

“I have my reasons.”

Walker shook his head once, hard. “Not good enough. You went to a lot of trouble to lead me down a blind alley—”

Coolly, she said, “It didn’t suit me to have my background investigated. Am I a criminal? No. In fact, I’ll give you my fingerprints if you like, and you can have the police check me out. The prints won’t be on file, because I have no criminal record. But all that really proves, of course, is that I never got caught in a criminal act—right, Walker?”

“Right,” he said flatly.

“So—stalemate. Oh, you can go ahead and tell Jesse what You’ve discovered. And now that You’ve warned me, I’ll come up with some kind of cover story, something plausible enough to satisfy him that what you found out is meaningless. He’ll believe me, Walker. We both know that.”

Walker shook his head again. “Don’t kid yourself— you have no idea how convincing I can be when all the proof’s on my side. And I can certainly prove you lied. You lied to
Jesse.
he’s not going to like that, trust me.”

Amanda looked at him, at his chilly eyes and stony face, and felt a pang of hurt that was, she knew, completely irrational. He had more than enough reason to doubt her, after all. Even a passionate lover was likely to turn into a distrustful stranger when he discovered he’d been lied to.

Maybe
especially
a passionate lover.

For a long and very silent moment, Amanda weighed her options. And liked none of them. The only thing she was sure of was that she had to somehow convince Walker not to tell Jesse he’d discovered her lie. She couldn’t afford to risk being asked to leave Glory, not now. Not when she felt so certain she was close to finding out the truth.

“All right,” she said slowly. “I did lie about growing up with the name Grant. And I’d rather Jesse didn’t know about that … just yet. I have my reasons. Can’t you accept—”

“No way. Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—it wouldn’t be fair to Jesse if I kept something like this to myself. And we won’t even talk about the fact that I could possibly be disbarred for it.”

Amanda knew without even making the attempt that to appeal to Walker’s softer feelings for her—assuming he had any—would be futile. The question of her identity had stood between them from the first moment she had walked into this office, and until Walker had that question answered to his satisfaction, he would not be able to trust anything she said.

“I have my reasons for keeping my background secret,” she said, because she had to try.

“What reasons? For Christ’s sake, you came here claiming to be Amanda Daulton—your past is the whole point of this.”

“No, not my past. My identity. Where and how I spent the past twenty years has absolutely nothing to do with whether I’m Amanda Daulton. All that matters—all that should matter—is if I was born Amanda Daulton, the daughter of Brian and Christine Daulton. And I
was.”

“Convince me,” Walker invited, his voice hard.

“I can’t, you know that.” She didn’t look away
from his cold eyes. “I have no papers you’d consider proof, nothing I couldn’t have faked or just somehow gotten my hands on. No witness to call to the stand who would testify that he or she could swear to my identity. And I can’t remember anything so specific that only Amanda Daulton would know it. It was
twenty years
ago, and it terrifies me to try to remember—”

A frown abruptly disturbed the wintry bleakness of his expression as she broke off, and Amanda felt a jolt as she realized she had said just one sentence too many. He was too intelligent and too alert to have missed it, and too curious not to want to know exactly what she meant by it.