Magnolia Dawn (15 page)

He swore. “I should have been. And if I had to do it over again, I would be.”

She crossed to the window. “Great.”

“I was afraid you'd turn me away,” he said quietly. “I couldn't take that chance.”

“I trusted you,” she said, her voice shaking uncontrollably. “You asked me to trust you. You promised you wouldn't hurt me. You
have
hurt me. You lied to me. You deceived me.”

“I didn't mean to, Anna.” He took a step toward her, hand out. “I never wanted to hurt you. Just as I didn't mean to get personally involved
with you. This thing between us just snowballed, and before I
knew it, we were—”

“It doesn't snow in Mississippi, Rush.” She curved her arms around herself. “I want you to leave.”

“Anna…” He took a step toward her, hand out. “If you'd just put aside your hurt for a moment and think about—”

“I asked you to leave,” she said as haughtily as she could. “I won't ask you again.”

Rush stopped, his expression hardening. “Nobody has to ask me to leave more than once.” He snatched his empty duffel from the settee. “Have a nice night, princess.”

And then he was gone.

As the slam of the door resounded through Ashland, Anna sank onto the floor beside Blue and cried.

Chapter Ten

S
leep eluded Anna. She tossed and turned; she lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, unable to think of anything but Rush's betrayal.

When he'd walked out he'd acted like he was angry. What had he had to be angry about? He'd lied to her; he'd used her.

He'd let her down. Just as every man she'd ever known, in one way or another, had let her down.

She groaned and pulled the pillow over her face. How had she been such a fool? How could she have believed he was interested in her? Attracted to her?

She tossed the pillow aside and sat up. Ashland. It always came back to Ashland. Her father and brother. Her fiancé. Travis. Now Rush. In one way or another, every relationship she'd ever had with a man had been colored—or tainted—by Ashland.

She was some sort of package deal, she thought, feeling for the first time in her life a modicum of the bitterness Lowell felt, a modicum of the dislike for Ashland that Lowell had.

She ran her fingers along the embroidered edge of the rumpled top sheet. Without Ashland, would her life be different? Would it be better? The way Lowell was always telling her. Would she be loved?

From the floor beside the bed, Blue growled. Anna sat up straighter, pulling the sheet to her breasts, listening. She heard nothing but emptiness. She opened her mouth to reassure Blue when she heard the creak of the stairs.

Someone was in the house.

Blue got to his feet, growling again, low in his throat. Anna caught her breath. Reaching out, she laid a hand on the dog, to reassure herself and to keep him by her side. The hair on his back stood up and beneath her hand, his body tensed, as if readying for attack.

She heard footfalls in the hall. Heart pounding, she slipped her hand under the pillow, curving her fingers around the cold steel of her gun. She'd never had to use it before. She'd never been forced to face the reality of aiming it at someone with the intent of firing.

The thought turned her stomach.

Gripping the weapon with both hands, she released the safety and aimed at the door. “Who's there?” she called out, trying to sound confident but sounding terrified instead.

Her door swung open; her heart leapt to her throat.

“Anna…it's me. Lowell.”

Lowell? Her breath shuddered past her lips and she lowered the gun. She realized she was sweating.

“Don't ever do that to me again!” she snapped. Dropping the gun onto the bed as if it were red-hot, she brought her shaking hands to her face. “I could have shot you!”

“It's not too late, sis.”

“Very funny.” She reached for the light. “Haven't you ever heard of the telephone? And what are you doing out here so late? It's the middle of the…”

Anna gasped as light flooded the room. Her brother had been in a fight. Half his face was swollen, the skin purpling; his blond hair was matted with something ominously dark on one side. His clothes were ripped and muddy.

“My God, Lowell!” She jumped out of bed and raced to his side. “What happened?”

He managed a weak smile. “I crossed the wrong guys.”

She put her arm around him and helped him to the bed. He groaned as he sank onto the mattress, and she arranged the pillows so he could sit up. He leaned against them, closing his eyes and making a sound of exhaustion and pain as he did.

Anna gazed at him, a lump in her throat. His skin looked pasty, even against the bright white of the sheets. Except where it was turning purple, except for the deep, hollow shadows under his eyes. He looked like he'd lost ten pounds since she'd seen him last.

Dear God, what was happening to him?

“I'll be back,” she whispered, shocked that she could even find her voice. “I'll get an ice pack and something to clean you up.”

Minutes later, she tiptoed back into her bedroom, expecting him to be asleep. Instead, he sat in the bed, his eyes wide. In them she saw something wild, something out of control.

“I brought you a nice cup of chamomile tea.” She forced a smile. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

Lowell made a face. “I believe the doctor ordered something a bit stronger.”

She sat the tray on the nightstand, then positioned herself on the edge of the bed beside him. “Don't you think you've had enough of that?” She handed him the ice pack.

His lips twisted. “My Florence Nightingale. What would I do without you?”

“If you don't like it here, go check into the nearest E.R.” She dipped a washcloth in the bowl of warm water she'd brought up, soaking it. Carefully, she began to clean the wound on his head, wiping away the dried blood.

“Who did this to you?” she asked, working to control the tremor in her voice.

“The bad guys.”

She frowned. “Funny.”

“You never did like my sense of humor.” He winced as she dabbed at the cut. “Hey, that hurts.”

“I don't see anything funny about this.” He didn't reply, so she pressed. “What's going on Lowell?”

“I already told you, I made enemies of the wrong guys.”

She dropped the cloth in the bowl, then gently probed the gash with her fingers. “I think you're okay without stitches. But you might want to have Dr. Garner take a look at it anyway.”

“That stiff? Forget it.”

She shook her head and took out the antiseptic. “This is going to sting.”

She applied the medicine, and he howled. “Take it easy with that stuff, will you?”

She rolled her eyes and dabbed at it again. “Have you called the police?”

“These are not the kind of people you report to the police.” He fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes, swearing when he found the pack was empty.

“No police, Lowell?”

He looked away. “No.”

“What kind of trouble
have
you gotten yourself into?” she asked, hearing the fear in her own voice. “What kind of people are these?”

“I've run up some debt,” he said after a moment. “They want their money.”

“What kind of debt?” He just looked at her, and she swore.

“Dammit, Lowell! Daddy blew everything on gambling and now you—”

“I'm nothing like him,” Lowell snapped, clenching his hands into fists. “Don't ever mention us in the same breath like that again.”

“Oh, excuse me.” She arched her eyebrows. “Daddy lost everything on gambling and drinking. Now you're doing the same. But you're nothing like him? For Pete's sake, Lowell. Didn't you learn anything by his example?”

“This was different.”

“Right.”

She made a sound of disgust and started to stand. He caught her hand and pulled her back to the bed. “This was a one-shot deal. A sure thing.”

“If it was such a sure thing, why are you in trouble?”

His face fell. “I don't know. I was so certain that this time…” He curled his fingers around hers. “I need your help, Anna. You've got to help me.”

Rush had uttered those same words to her just a few short hours ago. Pain speared through her. Every man in her life had always wanted something from her. But would anyone ever just want her? For herself?
Would anyone ever love her—unreservedly and without strings?

She slipped her hand from her brother's and stood. Crossing to the window, she inched aside the drape and stared out at the night. Tonight the sky was without stars, the moon obscured by clouds.

She thought of another night, one bathed in golden moonlight. The night she and Rush had made love. Tears clogged her throat. Had it only been the night before? It felt as if years had passed since then.

“You've got to help me, sis.”

She wheeled around, shaking with anger and frustration. “Do I, Lowell? Do I `have' to?”

“They're going to break my legs.”

“Oh, please. Give me a little more credit than that.”

“It's true.” He pulled himself a little farther up in the bed. “They said—”

“How much, Lowell?”

“Fifteen thousand.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Fifteen thousand?” she repeated. “A few weeks ago, Travis told me you needed ten.”

He shifted his gaze. “Interest.”

She stared at him, shocked, repulsed. She took a step toward him, her fingers clenched. “Do you have any idea how much money that is? Do you have any idea how long and how hard I have to work to make that much?”

She shook her head, incredulous. “You don't, do you? You've never worked for anything. You have no concept of…” She shook her head again. “We're not the rich Ameses anymore. It's over, Lowell. It has been for a long time.”

Her brother dragged a shaking hand through his hair, wincing at the movement. “You don't understand. I have nowhere else to turn.”

The adrenaline of anger surged through her. “And just how do you expect me to help you? I don't have—”

“You could marry Travis,” he said quickly. “I know he wants you. He would take care of us. He—”

“Marry Travis?” she repeated, furious, insulted. “So, you would basically…pimp me to pay off your gambling debts!”

“It wouldn't be like that! Dammit, Anna, I didn't mean that!” He climbed out of bed and crossed to where she stood. She could tell it took great effort to do so. “He's a good guy. He loves us, loves Ash—”

“I don't love him, Lowell. The answer is no.”

He caught her hands. “There's another way.”

She knew
what was coming and shook her head. “We've been through this before. I won't sell Ashland.”

“Why not? It makes sense. It would be good for both of us. Several interested parties answered my ads, but they all wanted the whole thing. One called it an architectural plum.” He squeezed her fingers, excited. “Just think how much we could get for it.”

She made a sound of pain and disbelief. “You're so selfish, Lowell. So self-consumed. Sell our ancestral home to pay your gambling debts? You
are
like Daddy.”

He caught her arm, gripping so tightly she winced. “You're the one who's like him. Believing all that bull he dished out, believing all those stupid, overblown stories of his.”

“Same old song, Lowell. Everybody has a problem but you.” She shook off his hand. “I'm not the one who's in trouble. I'm not the one who's sick.”

She walked to the bed and snatched up one of the pillows and a blanket. “You're not a child. You have to take care of yourself. You have to grow up. I'm not going to take care of you anymore.”

“Anna—”

“No.” She looked him in the eye. “Ashland isn't Daddy, Lowell. Selling it isn't going to kill your memory of him. It's not going to change how you feel about yourself.”

“I feel fine.” He gripped the window frame for support, making his words even more laughable. “Great, in fact. I just need a good night's sleep and someone who cares enough about me to lend me the money I
need.”

She hugged the pillow and blanket to her chest, fighting tears. “You hated Daddy, and you had a right to. He treated you…terribly. But you've done everything in your power to become just like him. It doesn't make any sense. And you're miserable.”

“I haven't become like him.”

She started for the door, stopping and looking over her shoulder at him when she reached it. “Grow up, baby brother. It's time.”

“You're not going to help me.” He shook his head as if he couldn't comprehend it. “They're going to hurt me. Don't you understand? Don't you care?”

She gazed at him, pity warring with love. “I do understand. And I do care about you.”

“Then help me.” His voice deepened. “I'm begging you, Anna.”

The despair on his face tore at her and for a moment, she thought of relenting. Of giving in to him. Only thirty minutes ago she'd been wondering what her life would be like without the burden—and lure—of Ashland.

Anna looked into his eyes and firmed her resolve. She'd gotten him out of scrapes too many times. Everyone had. Their mama had always made excuses for him. So had she. And Macy. It was time Lowell learned to stand on his own two feet. It was time he learned that some behavior there was no excuse for.

“Take my bed, I'll sleep on the settee.”

“Annabelle, please…”

Anna shook her head. “Prove you're not like Daddy,” she murmured. “You say you're not, Lowell. Prove it.”

Turning, she left him alone.

* * *

When Anna awakened the next morning, Lowell was gone. He hadn't left a note; it didn't look as if he'd eaten anything. In truth, she wasn't even sure he'd stayed the night.

Anna stared at her rumpled bed, frowning. What was her brother going to do with his life? She'd asked him to prove he wasn't like their father, but she feared he didn't have the strength of will, the personal fortitude, to pull himself back from whatever precipice he stood at the edge of.

She would help him; she wanted to help him. But first he had to want to help himself.

She quickly stripped the bed and carried the bundle of sheets down to the laundry room. She dumped them in the basket, then went to the kitchen to make her breakfast. Sunlight tumbled through the windows. She crossed to one and gazed out at the new day. Summer was in full bloom, a riot of brilliant colors and lush scents.

Anna touched the warm glass and smiled. She didn't feel sad this morning. She didn't feel hopeless or tired. And she wasn't certain why.

Maybe it was because she hadn't allowed Lowell to hurt her the night before. Maybe it was because, for the first time, she'd dealt with him as an adult.

But what of Rush? Her smile faded. The hurt had dulled, becoming a hollow ache. She didn't want to think about him. She wouldn't, not now.

Acting on a whim, she packed herself a muffin and a container of juice and walked down the magnolia grove to the river. She sat on the soft levee grass and ate her breakfast, gazing out at the sleepy Mississippi.