Somebody Like You (25 page)

Everything would be all right.

If Cornelia was a match.

If she could put a certain cowboy out of her mind.

If…

H
er nerves throbbed. Her head ached.

Annelise had spent a miserable night, tossing and turning till the soft light of dawn came through her bedroom window. Sleep had refused its refuge, and in the night’s dark hours, her mind ricocheted between the pain of walking away from Cash and the unnerving prospect of finally meeting her aunt.

The already-hot Texas sun beat down on her as she laid her helmet on the Harley’s seat. She prayed she could get through this. Prayed she could find some way to convince the woman who stood quietly studying her to help.

Cornelia Whitney was not at all what Annelise had expected. She’d assumed this woman would be a carbon copy of Thelma. What was it Cash had said about assumptions? They’d bite you in the butt.

She pushed the thought away. Pushed any and all thoughts of Cash to the back of her mind. She couldn’t afford to think about him right now.

The woman who waited in the doorway of the cheerful yellow bungalow was elegant and smartly dressed in a well-fitting pair of white dress slacks and a loose, flowing blue and white top. Her gray hair had been done up in a Gibson girl do. Other than simple pearl earrings, she wore no jewelry.

Trim and petite, she stood a good five inches shorter than Annelise. But her eyes. Looking into those cool blue eyes was like staring at her own in a mirror.

“Miss Whitney, I’m Annelise Montjoy.” She extended her hand.

“I know who you are. I can see it in your face. What I don’t know is why you’re here.”

Direct and to the point, Annelise thought. A short Katharine Hepburn.

She moved aside. “Come in. No need to forgo good manners.”

Annelise stepped into a cozy living room. Devoid of most of the frou-frou that so often filled older people’s homes, this one had wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with literature. She crossed to them and ran a hand over the spines.

“These are wonderful,” she said, turning to Cornelia.

“Yes, they are. Books are my true love.” She perched on the edge of a Windsor chair. “Would you like something? Perhaps tea or coffee? Cookies?”

“No, thank you.” Annelise walked over to an obviously well-loved sofa and sat. “You asked why I’m here. It’s because of my grandfather, Vincent Montjoy.”

She watched the woman’s eyes, so like her own, for any sign of recognition and saw nothing.

“Are you aware of—” She hesitated, not sure now that she was here exactly how to handle this. She’d rehearsed the scene in her mind a thousand times. Nothing, though, was as she’d expected. Reality seldom was.

“Am I aware your grandfather and I share a father? Yes, I certainly am. My middle name is Montjoy. My mother didn’t want me to forget where I came from.”

“Oh.” Annelise clasped her hands on her lap. “My grandfather, your brother—”

“My half brother.”

“Yes. Your half brother. He has leukemia and needs a bone marrow transplant. Without it, he’ll die.” There, she’d cut to the chase and laid it out, unemotionally.

Cornelia studied her for several long seconds. “I invited you here because Thelma asked me to talk to you. But I want you to know I wouldn’t have otherwise. Thelma’s a wonderful woman with a big heart.” Her hands moved to the arms of her chair. “I wrote to your grandfather once. The letter came back as undeliverable. He wanted nothing to do with me, his father’s dirty little secret.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your place to be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Her fingers tightened on the chair arms. “Your grandfather did, though. He turned his back on me as his father had. As
my
father had. So the question becomes, why should I help him now?”

“Because…because you’re a good person.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know me.”

Annelise stared up at the ceiling, then brought her eyes back to the matching ones across the room. “I’ve thought about this so much. Thought I was ready. That I knew exactly what I’d say when we met.” She held out her hands, palms up. “Now that I’m actually here, Ms. Whitney, I don’t have a clue.”

“Call me Nelly.”

Annelise smiled. “Nelly. I know you’ve probably had a hard life. A lot harder than my grandfather had. I also know you don’t owe him anything. You don’t owe our family anything.”

Her smile faded. “But I’m begging you. Please, help us. If you’d agree to be tested. You may not even be a match. If you’re not, then we’re done. I go back to Boston and spend what time I have left with my grandfather. You go back to doing whatever it is you do here in Texas.”

She stood, unable to sit any longer. “If you are a match, though, I’ve got to believe you’d do this for a stranger. If some young child needed your bone marrow, you’d give it to him. I know you would. Anybody would. I’m not asking for a kidney or part of your liver. Your bone marrow will replenish itself. In a matter of days, you’ll be as good as new, and my grandpa will have a chance at gaining his life back. You might hold my grandfather’s life in your hands.”

“I don’t want that responsibility. I never asked for it.”

“I understand that. But like it or not, Vincent is your brother, your half brother. You shared a father. Neither of you had any choice in that or how it played out. In this, you do have a choice.”

“I hear you rode all the way from Boston on a Harley.”

“I did.”

“Does your grandfather know you’re here?”

“I believe he does now.”

“He’s none too happy about that, is he?”

Annelise breathed deeply. “No, ma’am, he’s not. He’s ordered me home.”

“I can’t imagine what you hoped to gain by coming all this way to see me. It doesn’t make any sense. Why didn’t you simply call me?”

“Because you would have said no.”

“I can say no to your face as easily as over the phone.”

“Maybe. But I’m hoping you won’t, because I love Vincent Montjoy. I love him,” she repeated. “It breaks my heart to see this wonderful man, a man who’s always been so strong, brought down low and knowing there’s a chance—a slim chance—but a chance nonetheless, that we can save him. That
you
can save him. You’re his only hope.”

Cornelia got up and walked to one of the bookshelves. “I studied English literature in college. Your great-grandfather took care of Mother and me financially. But he broke both our hearts when he left.”

She turned to lean against the shelf. “My mother died the year I went off to college. When I graduated, I didn’t come back to Lone Tree. There was nothing for me here. Or so I thought.

“He bought this house for us. I suppose I should be grateful for that. Over the years, Thelma and I have kept in contact, and she helped me. I paid for the maintenance, and she saw to the actual hiring of the work for me. She’s a good friend. I spent most of my life in England and didn’t come back until several years ago.”

“England. Is that where you collected the beautiful tea cups?” She nodded toward the China closet brimming with them.

“Some, yes. Everywhere I travel, I buy one. Most are from antique shops, some from friends who find interesting ones for me.”

She picked up a porcelain music box and wound it. Carousel horses circled while “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” rang out in tinny tones. “My father bought this for me on my fourth birthday. When we walked down the street, hand in hand, I was somebody. My daddy was a very important man.”

Annie’s heart sped up. She was no longer dealing in abstracts. And Driller Montjoy had apparently not neglected his daughter. He’d also not been very discreet. And that must have wreaked havoc at home.

“I remember him as if it was yesterday.” Cornelia replaced the music box. “I have a picture of him. Would you like to see it?”

Annelise nodded.

Her great-aunt opened a cedar chest tucked into the corner of the room and drew out an old, faded album. “This was my mother’s. She began working as the Montjoy’s housekeeper, you know, then saved the rascal’s life when he had appendicitis.”

Annelise nodded. So Cornelia’s mother was the nurse she’d read about. A shared near-death trauma. A bond formed. Was that what had started the romance?

Cornelia opened the album, a far-away, rather dreamy look on her aged face. She turned to a picture of her mother and held it out for Annelise to see. “This is my mother, Kathleen Whitney.”

Slowly, she turned the page. “And this is my family. Your great-grandfather, my mother, and me. It was taken on my birthday. The day he gave me the music box. The dress had been a Christmas gift, red velvet with tiny white bows on the skirt. It was my last birthday with him. A week later, he moved his
real
family, his legal one, to Boston. I never saw him again.”

There was pain in her voice, pain Annelise couldn’t ignore. She placed her hand over the older woman’s and was pleased when she didn’t pull away.

But she didn’t offer an apology. Cornelia had made it more than clear she didn’t expect one from her.

Why then did she want one from her grandfather?

Because he’d rebuffed her. Hadn’t been willing to open any line of communication with her. Annelise thought she understood that.

Hadn’t she been hurt to the core last night when she’d realized Cash hadn’t been candid with her? And Cornelia’s hurt went back a long way, had festered all these years.

“Vincent was only nine when they moved away,” she said.

Cornelia nodded. “I know.”

“Surely you don’t blame him.”

“Not for that, no. Father uprooted him and took him away from his friends, from everything he loved. I felt sorry for him for a while.”

“Then he rejected your peace offering.”

“Yes. And that was when I closed my heart to him.”

Oh, Grandpa
, Annelise thought.
You so blew it.

“Is there anything I can say, anything I can do to change your mind?”

“I’m afraid not.” The expression on Cornelia’s face, in her eyes, showed compassion but also determination. She stood. “I know you came a long way to talk to me, but I can’t help you.”

“You
won’t
help me. My grandfather.”

“As you will. That chapter of my life is closed. I don’t wish to reopen it. For any reason.”

“But a good man will die.” Annelise had to try once more. “He was only a little boy when all this happened. It had nothing to do with him. You know that.”

“He had his daddy to put him to bed at night. I didn’t.”

“Please. You can’t hold that against him.”

Cornelia dropped her head. “I don’t. I shouldn’t have said that.” She walked to the door and opened it.

Annelise wasn’t ready to leave. “Nelly—”

“No.” Her grandfather’s only hope shook her head. “I really am very sorry. I hope to live the rest of my life right here in this house in solitude and peace. I want to read my books. Have tea occasionally with Thelma. If I come forward to do this, the press will find out about me, and none of that’s going to happen. It would change my life. Again.

“The Montjoys turned their backs on me and my mother years ago. ‘What a man sows, that shall he and his relations reap.’ Clarissa Graves. A wonderful British poet.”

Annelise stood, moved to the door to stand beside Cornelia. “I didn’t know my great-grandfather, Nelly. Your father. I can only say he appeared to be human. He had flaws like the rest of us.”

When Cornelia opened her mouth to speak, Annelise said, “Wait, please. Hear me out. Does that mean what Driller did was right?” She shook her head. “No, of course not. He cheated on his wife. He left two young children to pay for his sins. But someone has to be willing to break that chain of hurt and wrong. I had hoped it would be you.”

“I tried. Your grandfather refused my entreaty. I took the first step. I won’t take another.”

“I understand.” Annelise opened the screen door and stepped onto the porch, fighting back tears. She’d failed. Through an emotion-tight throat, she said, “I appreciate you taking the time to meet me. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

“Wait.” Cornelia touched Annelise’s arm. “Do you have a picture of your grandfather? Something recent?”

“Yes, I do.” She withdrew a photo from her purse. “It was taken just before he got sick.” She handed it to his sister. “Keep it, please. I have more.”

Without another word, she left the way she’d come. This time, though, there was no hope, only despair. Her grandfather’s last chance had died. As he would.

She didn’t stop the tears but let them fall, swiping at them only when they clouded her vision.

After she turned onto the main road, she pulled off to the side, removed her helmet, and indulged in a good cry. Her chest felt tight, her heart heavy. Resting her elbows on the bike’s handlebars, she laid her forehead in her hands.

Alone for the first time in days, she gave in to despair. Rufus and Silas, after a good deal of cajoling, had allowed her to go the last mile to Cornelia’s unattended. Coming clean with them, she’d explained the importance of the meeting. She didn’t think showing up with two bodyguards would improve her chance of success.

Now she realized it hadn’t mattered. Cornelia Whitney had agreed to speak with her, but her mind had already been made up. Past hurts offset anything Annelise could say.

Any hopes she’d harbored of a great-aunt who would accept her and help her had been dashed. Thelma had been right. Today had not been a family reunion.

Wiping her eyes, she blew her nose and buckled her helmet back on. Nothing to do now but go home. To Boston. She’d make the most of whatever time her grandfather had left.

What she didn’t intend to do today was attend a celebration. It might be the country’s independence day, but she had nothing to cheer about. No fireworks for her today. An explosion, yes. One that had destroyed all her dreams.

Her hope of helping Grandpa had gone up in smoke. Any relationship she’d thought was in the making between her and Cash had ended last night.

She waved at her bodyguards as she roared past and watched in her rearview mirror as they pulled in behind her.

As she rode, her mind kicked into high gear, planning details, mentally composing a list of to-dos. She’d go back to her apartment and pack. If she was lucky, she could catch a plane out of Austin tonight or tomorrow. She’d have her Harley shipped back to Boston. Either Silas or Rufus could stay behind to deal with that. The other could fly home with her.