One Night in Weaver... (10 page)

And as strained as their relationship had been since Vivian’s arrival, that one simple act reminded Hayley that some things, at least, remained steady and true.

She didn’t bother pushing the image of Seth out of her mind. By trying so hard not to think about him, all she’d succeeded in doing for the past week had been imagining him around every corner, just out of her sight. Hovering like some ghost. So she’d stopped trying. And she was still hoping her common sense would put those flights of fancy to rest, once and for all.

She picked up one of the two boxes sitting beside her that were still wrapped gaily in red and green Christmas paper and got out of the car she’d parked at the curb in front of her parents’ house. She headed across the grass and stopped in the middle of an unmowed patch where Carter would be forced to stop and acknowledge her if he wanted to finish his routine.

She knew he wouldn’t leave the job unfinished. That wasn’t her father’s way. And after another five minutes or so of standing in the surprisingly warm April sunshine with the spring-sweet smell of fresh grass clippings making her want to sneeze, he finally stopped pushing the mower, letting the motor die.

At fifty-eight, Carter Templeton was still a good-looking man. His dark hair was liberally shot with gray, but it sprang back from his square forehead as thick as ever. Even though his time in the army was more than thirty years past, his tall, spare body still possessed a military bearing. The familiar posture cheered her as much as his habitual weekly mowing.

“Hi, Daddy,” she greeted.

His eyes were dark brown like hers and they narrowed as he took his time studying her. “You look like hell,” he finally said.

Deflated, she pressed Vivian’s Christmas album to her chest. “Well, gee, Dad. Thanks ever so much.”

His lips thinned. “You have circles under your eyes. It’s your grandmother’s doing. I warned you about her, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“The circles aren’t because of Vivian,” she replied. “They have nothing whatsoever to do with her.” Because she’d come to Braden determined to make one part of her life feel less of a failure, she stepped around the lawn mower and reached up to kiss his cheek. “I love you, Dad. Just want to get that in there in case you make me forget later.”

His brows lowered. “I love you, too,” he returned gruffly. “That’s why I can’t understand what you’re doing with
her
. Skunks don’t change their stripes, missy.”

“Vivian’s not a skunk.” A dirty pickup truck noisily chugged down the street and Hayley absently watched it turn the corner. “Finish the lawn,” she suggested. “I’m going inside to say hello to Mom.”

“Early for Christmas presents, isn’t it?”

She patted the box. “Not early. Late. Four months late.” She headed for the house. “I’ll see you inside when you’re done.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Just went through the front door and found her mother in the kitchen, where she was stirring the contents of a big pot at the stove. The radio was on and Meredith’s bare feet were moving in time to the music. She was six years younger than Carter and as bohemian as he was conventional. Her glossy black hair streamed down her narrow back in ringlets and the bracelet around one of her ankles tinkled with the sound of small bells.

“What concoction are you boiling up now?”

Meredith whirled, her wildly colorful skirt flaring around her calves. “Hayley!” She left the long-handled spoon sticking out of the big pot and wrapped her arms around her, squeezing her hard. “I
told
Carter that today was going to be a beautiful day, and here you are!” She pushed away, looking up at Hayley with bright blue eyes. “Don’t you look like a ray of sunshine?”

Hayley grimaced and set the box on the table by the window. “Daddy told me I looked like hell.”

“Oh.” Meredith swished her hand in the air dismissively. “Ignore him. He needs more prunes in his diet.”

It was the first time Hayley had felt like laughing all week. Ever since Mrs. Carson had told her about Seth and his three—
count ’em, three
—suitcases. “You’re too good for him.” She repeated the words that she’d grown up hearing her father say, time and time again. “How’re the Trips?”

“Busy as usual.” Meredith went back to stirring her pot. “Ali’s riding with another new partner. Greer’s on night court and Maddie’s still on adult probation.”

“Only you would have a cop, a public defender and a social worker for daughters,” Hayley said with a laugh. “I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to talk with them lately. And Rosalind?”

“Still working for her father’s legal firm in Cheyenne.” Meredith shrugged. “She really
is
too good for them.”

Hayley squeezed Meredith’s shoulders, knowing how hard her stepmother worked to maintain a relationship with her eldest daughter. “Any of them dating? Or is that still Arch’s domain?” Last she’d checked, her older brother had a revolving door when it came to the opposite sex.

“Greer’s been seeing someone for a few weeks. Haven’t met him yet. What about you? Anyone special?”

Seth’s ever-present image swam inside her head. “I thought there was.” She went quiet for a moment. “Really special.”

Meredith tsked. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“So am I.” Truer words she’d never spoken. Then she frowned as she looked into the unappealing, smelly muck inside the pot. “What is that?”

“Soap.”

“Her latest hobby,” Carter said, coming into the kitchen. He grabbed a coffee mug and filled it to the brim before pulling out one of the chairs and sitting at the table. “Smells like doody, if you ask me.”

Hayley’s smile felt wooden. Was “doody” the word former military men reserved for use around the women in their lives?

Of course, as she’d just indicated with Meredith, Hayley wasn’t
in
Seth’s life.

“It’s lavender and olive oil.” Meredith set an apple on the table next to Carter’s coffee.

“Still stinks.” But he gave her a fond pat on the rump as she danced her way back to the stove.

Hayley pulled out another chair and sat across from her dad. She pushed the gift toward him. “It’s for you. I have another one in my car for Uncle David.”

Carter immediately shook his head. “Then it’s from the Queen of the Damned. No, thank you.”

“Don’t call your mother that,” Meredith chided. “She gave birth to you.”

“It’s a wonder she didn’t eat her young.”

“Come on, Dad. Vivian Archer Templeton. You named Arch after her!”

“I named your brother after
her
father.” He pushed the box away. “It’s just a family name and your mother liked it.”

His reaction wasn’t any different than what Hayley had expected. She knew, of course, that the box contained the photo album that Vivian had put together herself. But she’d never had an opportunity to see the contents. So she started unwrapping it herself. “If you’re not going to open it, I will.”

Carter just shook his head and drank his coffee.

Meredith sat down in the chair next to Hayley and watched curiously when she uncovered the fine, leather book and flipped it open.

“Oh, look.” Meredith immediately pointed at the first baby picture. “Carter, you look just the same as you did as a baby! So precious.”

He grunted softly. “Last I checked the mirror, I wasn’t bald and toothless. Yet.”

Meredith smiled and reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “You.”

From the corner of her eye, Hayley saw her dad’s hand turn beneath his wife’s and squeeze back. “You,” he replied softly.

A bittersweet lump lodged in Hayley’s chest at the sight of the familiar exchange, but she kept glancing through the album. The Templeton sons had all been dark haired and good-looking. The earlier days were captured in black and white photos. Eventually colored Polaroids showed them in ski gear and swimwear. On golf courses and tennis courts. There weren’t as many smiles on their faces as children ought to have, but it was clear from the chronicling that they’d all been athletic.

“No baseball or football?” She looked up at her dad.

He made a face. “Templetons didn’t play sports like that.” His voice turned mocking. “We had private schools and personal tutors and weekends at the club.”

“This is Thatcher?” She held up the book to show one picture in particular of a well-built young man, arm hanging out of a convertible.

Carter nodded. Despite his rejection of Vivian’s gift, he took the album from Hayley and studied the small picture more closely. “That Jag was his high school graduation gift.” He closed the album with finality. “He went to a party after he got his diploma and he kept on driving. Was two years before David and I heard from him again. He warned us to get out while we could.”

“Vivian told me what Thatcher believed about your father’s death. And that he was wrong.”

“Why would she admit now to making my father’s life such a misery he drove off a cliff?”

“There’s no proof he did it intentionally.”

“There is no proof that he didn’t.” Hayley’s father gave her a stern look. “Do you think I didn’t look into it myself? That David didn’t? The only one who knows the truth is my father. He died before I got to know him. But I know my mother all too well. She’s self-involved, the worst possible snob and manipulative as hell.” He lifted the edge of the album and let it fall heavily back to the table. “And she’s got you doing her dirty work.”

“She doesn’t know I brought the albums. And I’m sorry that she was not a good mother to you, Dad. But she’s never done anything to me and I’m tired of you making this an either-or situation. You’re my father. I wouldn’t be who I am today if not for you, and I love you.”

He frowned. “And you’re going to say you love
her
? You didn’t know she existed until a few months ago.”

“Actually, yes.” Hayley realized it was true. “I’ve become very fond of Vivian. That doesn’t make me love you less.” She stood. “What makes the respect I’ve always had for you a little tarnished is your continued lack of compassion for a woman who has only wanted to tell you she’s sorry for her mistakes. As if you’ve never made any of your own.” She sent Meredith an apologetic look, left the album on the table and headed for the door. “I’m dropping off Uncle David’s album at his place in case you feel the need to call and give him a warning.”

Meredith hurried after her. “Honey, please. Stay.”

Hayley gave her stepmother a hug. “I actually really can’t. I’ve got things waiting for me in Weaver.” She’d left Moose in Casey and Jane’s backyard and hoped she wouldn’t return to a dozen complaints from the neighbors that he’d barked the entire time. She’d have brought him with her if Meredith weren’t allergic to pet dander. “All I wanted to do was bring the albums and see if I could get through to him.”

“He’ll come around,” Meredith said for about the hundredth time over the past half a year. She squeezed Hayley’s arm, accompanying her outside. “I miss seeing you.”

“I miss seeing you, too. But the road between Weaver and Braden isn’t one way. You can always come and visit me, as well.” Her parents used to do so fairly often until Vivian’s arrival. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll be sure to be in touch more often.” Vivian couldn’t be the only one who was ready to move forward in the face of disappointment.

Hayley would, as well.

At least when it came to her relationship with her family.

When it came to Seth’s leaving?

She didn’t need her PhD to know that getting over that was going to take a lot more time.

Chapter Nine

“I
want to take him outside.”

Tristan Clay’s eyebrows rose over Hayley’s abrupt demand. He tossed down his pen on the wide desk in his Cee-Vid office and gestured at the two chairs situated on the other side. “Good afternoon, Hayley. Come on in.” His voice was dry.

She entered the office and closed the glass door behind her. From his vantage point, he could look out over the open floor plan of his gaming company. On that Monday afternoon, every desk was occupied and she couldn’t help but think of all those workers in relation to the construction going on around town.

Weaver had started out as a ranching community. But Cee-Vid’s booming success was certainly doing a good job of widening the gene pool.

“I’m sorry.” She sat in the closest chair. “I should have
called to tell you I was coming.” She couldn’t help the dark irony, nor—judging by his expression—was it lost on the man sitting across from her.

“Have you heard from him?”

Her hands tightened in her lap. She didn’t make the mistake of thinking he meant McGregor. Nor did she want to talk about Seth. Not with this man and not with anyone else. “No. Ja—” She broke off, cognizant of their Cee-Vid surroundings. “My
patient
,” she amended, “needs some fresh air. A change of scenery.”

“Is this your idea or his?”

“Mine.” Since she’d provided Jason with a stack of books, he hadn’t asked for one other thing. He hadn’t offered anything of significance, either. Nor had he consented to trying hypnosis. Which left her no further along in his care than they’d been a week ago. “Even convicted criminals are allowed a little time in the sun.”

Tristan sat forward, folding his big hands on top of the desk. He was an exceptionally tall man—more Paul Bunyan, she’d always thought, than James Bond.

“That presents a security challenge,” he said.

She shrugged. “I’m sure you have more than adequate means to handle any challenge.”

His lips twitched. “You impressed the hell out of Coleman Black.”

“I wish I could say the same about him.” She didn’t smile. “The more I learn about your—” she waved her hand expressively “—whatever, the less impressed I become. Unless your armed friends down in the basement decide to stop me, I intend to take my patient up to the land of the living for a breath of fresh spring air.”

“And by doing so, you could be putting yourself and others in danger.”

“If Ja—” She broke off again, pressing her lips together. “He has had ample opportunity to try and hurt me and he has not.”

“You might want to be more careful where you put your trust.”

The words felt like a blow to her midsection, but Tristan didn’t need to know that. “I didn’t say I trusted him. Only that it is my considered opinion he is unlikely to show violence toward me.”

“Sounds like the long way of saying you trust him,” Tristan said dryly. He sat back in his chair and watched her through hooded eyes. “I’ll make arrangements for tomorrow afternoon,” he finally said.

Satisfied that she’d gotten what she’d come for, she nodded and stood. “Thank you.” She reached for the door and pulled it open.

“If it helps any, I know he didn’t want to leave.” Tristan’s words followed her and her shoulders went stiff. Once again, he wasn’t referring to McGregor.

Though she didn’t intend to respond, she found herself looking back at the man. “It’s not the leaving. It’s the way he did it.” Then, feeling as if she’d just reopened a barely healing vein, she left.

* * *

She met McGregor at Willow Park. They arrived in separate vehicles: she in her conservative little sedan, Jason in a black SUV driven by two Hollins-Winword guards.

From Seth’s rooftop vantage point among the houses under construction across the street, he watched Hayley and McGregor through the scope on his rifle. There were no construction workers on site today, and he knew Tristan had arranged that. Seth also knew the man had a security team spread out all through the park. Thanks to Adam’s heads-up about McGregor’s field trip, Seth had already been in place long before they took up their positions.

He knew where they were.

They just didn’t know about
him
.

It had been five years since he’d been a sniper with the US Army. But even though his analytical abilities were what made him valuable to Hollins-Winword, he’d maintained his rifle proficiency the same way he’d maintained his physical fitness. There were some things that a ranger never left behind no matter how many years passed.

If it meant perching in the rafters of a house still in the framing stage for ten hours just to see for himself that Hayley was protected during the thirty minutes she was being allowed outside with McGregor, then he’d do it every day of the week and twice on Sundays.

Tristan might have thought he’d effectively banished Seth from the area, but Seth had had other ideas. He’d undoubtedly burned his bridges with the man by going AWOL instead of reporting in at the agency’s Denver office as instructed, but Seth was beyond caring. After he’d left his apartment, he’d bought a bus ticket in Braden bound for Denver, stashed his nonessential gear in the lockers at the station there and hitched a ride from a trucker back to Weaver.

He knew how to disappear when he needed to.

But he didn’t know how to stop himself from watching over Hayley any more than he knew how to stop himself from caring.

Because somewhere between watching her sneak out of his apartment on a predawn January morning and unraveling a leash from her legs on a cool April evening, he’d realized he cared a helluva lot more about her than he had ever cared about seeing McGregor face charges for Manny and Jon’s deaths.

He shifted his hand slightly, following her and McGregor’s progress along the sidewalk. She walked at a leisurely pace but he saw how she hesitated almost imperceptibly as they neared the playground equipment. He could see her lips moving. He knew she and McGregor were having a conversation even if he couldn’t tell what it was about.

She was wearing a dark gray skirt and jacket and low shoes. Her long shining hair was pulled back to the middle of her head in its usual ponytail and it drifted around in the constant breeze. If she was upset about Seth’s absence, there was nothing in her outward appearance that showed it.

His cross-hair settled gently on her companion. McGregor was even skinnier than the last time Seth had seen him. The jeans he wore hung on his frame; his face was pale and almost skeletal. And while Seth watched, McGregor turned his face toward the sky and closed his eyes, his lanky shoulders visibly rising and falling.

Seth’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for the man who had—more likely than not—betrayed his partners.

A movement on his periphery alerted him to the presence of a young couple entering the park from the other side. Tristan could arrange for construction workers to have a day off, but he couldn’t control the actions of residents in the area without bringing more unwanted attention. The couple seemed oblivious to anything other than the baby stroller they were pushing. New parents, judging by their hovering, nervously excited body language.

Did Hayley ever think about becoming a mother?

Seth shifted slightly, getting his focus back where it belonged.

McGregor had pulled off the hospital-style slippers he’d been wearing and was walking around in the grass. Even in the short two weeks since Seth had been there with Hayley, it had thickened and turned dark green. McGregor moved over to a tree and lined his spine up against it before bending his knees and slowly sitting down against it. Hayley joined him and tucked her legs together neatly to one side of her. Seth could see their lips moving as they talked and wished to hell he could hear what they were saying.

But all he could hear was the murmur of the couple’s voices as they soothed the baby who’d started crying as they headed back out of the park.

His gaze centered again on Hayley’s profile. She looked so calm. So peaceful. Her lips moved a lot less than McGregor’s did. She was obviously listening more. Giving her patient the space to do the talking.

Seth’s personal experience with therapists had been somewhat different.

But then, he’d been eighteen and every adult around him had been more interested in talking him out of his belief that his father’s partner had engineered his dad’s death than hearing why Seth believed so strongly that it had been so.

In the time since—until he’d met Hayley, anyway—he’d never had much use for therapists.

His practiced gaze periodically swept the area. He could see the Hollins-Winword detail monitoring the park’s perimeter and slowly, inch by inch, some of the stress began draining from his body as nothing more disastrous occurred than Hayley absently swatting at a fly with a wave of her hand.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t until a half hour later, when McGregor’s two guards walked him back to the SUV and drove away, that Seth finally lay down his rifle with a hand that was strangely shaking.

He blew out a long breath and flexed his hands, blaming the tremors on lack of practice even though he knew the truth was entirely different.

Maybe he needed a shrink, after all.

He rested his chin on his crossed arms and watched Hayley. She’d stood, too, when the guards had taken McGregor once more. But she didn’t go immediately to her small car in the parking lot.

Instead, she moved over to the swings and sat in the same one Seth had pushed her on. But she didn’t swing today. She just sat there motionless, her head lowered slightly while the faint breeze flirted with her long ponytail.

He very nearly lowered himself from the rafters to go to her. Found himself even starting to when a sheriff’s cruiser trolled up the street and pulled to the curb. He could see Hayley’s blond friend sitting behind the wheel as she hailed Hayley through the opened window. “Colbys tonight?” he heard her say.

Hayley left the swing, not answering until she reached the car, and when she did, her voice was too low for Seth to hear. Then the car drove off, and Hayley folded her arms over her chest, seeming to study the buildings across from her.

Seth waited, motionless; it felt as if she looked straight through his hiding place.

There was no way she’d be able to see him, though. For the past week he’d been blending into the woodwork. When he hadn’t been keeping an eye on her, he’d been watching the safe house.

A moment later, she returned to her car and drove away, too.

Silently, Seth unloaded the rifle, broke it down and left the construction site.

It was a long while, though, before his hands stopped shaking. But his unease wasn’t ever going to go away. Not until he knew that Hayley was finished for good with McGregor.

* * *

A strange man was in her kitchen.

Hayley stopped short at the sight of the bald man staring into her open cabinets before she remembered. “You must be Mr. Montrose.” She set down the bags of groceries on her kitchen table and stuck out her hand. “My grandmother said you were coming. I’m Hayley.”

The man gave her hand a brief, limp shake. He wiped his hand on his white apron that, she had a strong suspicion, was actually starched. “It’s not
Mr.
Montrose.” He had a faintly British accent. “It’s only Montrose.”

“Okay, uh, Montrose.” She tried very hard not to stare, but he was wearing a black suit beneath the apron, along with a blinding white shirt and an honest-to-God bowtie. She gestured at the grocery bags. “I’ve been out stocking up.”

“Mmm.” He didn’t look impressed. “Mrs. Templeton didn’t adequately prepare me for the conditions here.”

“Well.” Hayley spread her arms, taking in her small kitchen. “It has always worked for me.”

His expression told her what he thought about that.

“Speaking of my grandmother—” she tried a tentative smile that he did not return “—do you know where she is?”

“Mrs. Templeton had an appointment with her attorney.” He peered into one of the bags, pulling the paper aside with a bony finger. “Dear Lord,” he said under his breath.

Hayley’s smile became forced. Vivian had called him a prima donna, and so far, he was exhibiting the signs. “When did you arrive?”

“Last evening.” He pulled a head of lettuce from the bag with the same expression she probably wore doing doody duty. “This little village of yours doesn’t even possess a proper airport.”

“And yet, we manage to survive,” she couldn’t help saying. “How long did you work for my grandmother?”

“Twenty years.”

Not long enough for him to have been with Vivian when her father was still living at home. But if Montrose was a taste of the snootiness that Carter claimed had been pervasive in the Templeton home, at that moment she wasn’t all that sure she blamed him for wanting to get away from it.

“That’s a long time,” she said. “I am sure she’s pleased you’re here.” Because he seemed so disturbed by the contents of her grocery bags, Hayley began unloading them herself. Mostly fruit and vegetables that she put away in the refrigerator, along with the head of lettuce that had seemed just fine to her when she’d purchased it on her way home from the uneventful outing with her patient in Willow Park.

“Of course she is pleased that I am here,” Montrose said, looking offended that there could
possibly
be another point of view. “Who wouldn’t be? I am Montrose.”

“Yes.” She tucked the bags away in a cupboard and edged toward the door. “You are indeed. I’ll just, um, leave you to it, then.” She backed out of the kitchen, never more anxious to leave her own home.

As soon as she escaped, though, a silver car bumped over the curb and jerked to a stop.

She wasn’t sure which was more out of place: the car itself, or the fact that Vivian climbed out from behind the wheel of it.

Feeling more than a little bemused, Hayley approached the large sedan with the very distinctive hood ornament. “Vivian,” she greeted. “Is that a—”

“A Rolls, dear.” Vivian tugged the cropped hem of her jacket around her narrow hips and stepped up onto the curb, not seeming the least bothered by the fact that she’d parked the Rolls-Royce’s front tire up on that curb, too. “It’s
used
of course, though the official term is pre-owned, I believe. As if that makes it more desirable. But it was the only thing I could get on short notice.”