The Pretender (15 page)

I have to tell somebody the truth,
she thought, as she sniffed and dashed a tear from her cheek.
I have to. If Sam Malone hasn’t shown up by tomorrow, I…I’ll go to Los Angeles and find the lawyer myself. This has to stop. I’m not a liar. Or a fraud. I’m not!

A small voice inside her head whispered:
Then, what are you?

As it turned out, she didn’t get to go back to the barn that evening. When she returned to the hacienda, she found that Josie had been waiting for her. She needed
to go grocery shopping, the housekeeper said, and wanted to know if Abby would like to go with her. It would be a great opportunity, she said, for Abby to explore the valley. Rachel wanted to go, too, since J.J. had offered to babysit Sean, and they could take the long way around the lake, stop for lunch in Kernville, then go around through Wofford Heights and Isabella. They could show Abby where
all the shops were, and have a nice outing, just the “girls.”

Abby had mixed feelings about the outing. On the one hand, she thought it would be good to be busy and distracted, so she wouldn’t have to think about the predicament she was in, or that awful upsetting phone call from Pauly. On the other hand, being around these people was a strain because she had to remember to stay in character,
maintain her pretense, play her role. It was also a strain because they were so
nice.
To her, their niceness was becoming a burden, and her awareness of the way she was lying to them a constant heaviness in her heart.

In spite of that, she enjoyed the trip. Since Sunny’s death she’d been too wrapped up in grief and shock, first, and then in the impersonation of Sunny to realize how much
she’d missed the company of friends. Female friends, in particular.

Of course, Josie and Rachel couldn’t be called
friends,
could they? Not when she was lying to them every minute she was with them, simply by
being.

In any case, by the time they returned with the back of the SUV packed full of groceries, the sun was going down behind the mountains and the chores had been done. Abby
and Rachel helped Josie unload and put away the groceries and get supper on the table. Afterward, Sage said good-night and went back to his little adobe house, alone. Rachel and J.J. said they were going to watch an old John Wayne movie they’d just gotten from Netflix, and Josie retired to bed.

Abby went to bed, too. She tried to read the book she’d borrowed from the den but fell asleep
and dreamed she was being chased by Sunny’s killer, who wore heavy gloves and a hood over his face. As was typical in chase dreams, her legs felt heavy, leaden…it was so hard to keep running, even though she knew her life depended on it. When she woke to her cell phone alarm, she found that Pia was curled up asleep on her feet.

Sage found Sunny perched on a stool at the kitchen counter
when he went in for breakfast. She smiled and raised her coffee mug to him in a little salute.

“You’re up early,” he said.

“Really?” she countered, lifting her eyebrows. “I thought you were late.”

He kissed his mother’s cheek, said, “Mornin’, Ma,” and slipped onto the stool next to Sunny.

There’s something different about her this morning,
he thought. Partly it was her hair,
which she was wearing in a single braid down her back, which made her look more like a Nordic milkmaid than either a 1940s movie star or a prima ballerina. But it was something else, too, something in her eyes. A certain sadness, maybe, or a hint of the fear he’d noticed that first day. Seeing that look in her eyes again made him want to erase it, eliminate whatever it was she was afraid of.
He wanted to see her face alight with joy again, the way it had been yesterday when she’d galloped Morning Glory across the meadow.

“I think I know your hairdresser,” he said, tilting his head so his braid fell toward her across his shoulder.

She tilted her head the same way and looked sideways at him, and their eyes met across their two braids, hers the color of sunshine, his the
color of midnight, lying side by side along their arms, their sleeves almost touching…

“Black and white,” she murmured.

Yin and yang,
he thought.

Then his mother was there, filling his coffee mug, and when he thanked her, he thought he caught a glimpse of a worried look in her eyes, just before she turned back to the stove.

Worried about me, Ma? I know Sam’s granddaughter
is off-limits.
But he felt a flash of resentment.

Why, Ma? Why should Sam’s granddaughter be off-limits to me? Do you think I’m not good enough for her? Would he?

He wolfed his breakfast in silence, then drained his coffee mug in a couple of gulps and slid off the stool. “Ready?”

“You betcha.” She swallowed the last of her coffee and stood up, aiming a challenging grin his way.
“You going to teach me to milk today?”

“You betcha,” he said, mimicking her, and she laughed and matched him stride for stride as they walked through the house and out the front door and down the steps to where he’d parked his truck.

Freckles came bounding up and she dropped to one knee to throw her arms around the dog’s neck. J.J.’s old hound stood by, tail waving slowly, patiently
waiting her turn, and Sunny hugged her, too. When she finally finished loving up the dogs and climbed into the cab beside him, Sage felt his spirits lift, and he realized it was because the fearful look in her eyes was gone.

“What’s this stuff for?” Abby eyed the jar of murky-looking ointment doubtfully.

“It’s bag balm,” Sage explained. “It’s a lubricant. Protects the cow—and it’s
not bad for your hands, either. Help heal up that cat bite.”

“Ah.” She poked a forefinger into the jar and scooped out a glob and rubbed it briskly over her palms. “Hmm…not bad. Feels kind of nice, in fact. Okay, what now?”

She could see Sage was trying to hide a smile, but who could blame him? He must think she was nuts, going giddy with excitement over milking a cow, for God’s sake.

Better to have him think that than know the truth, which is that it’s
he
who makes my heart pound and my hands go damp.

“Okay, come on over here. Sit right here, on this stool.”

“Yeah…okay.” She cast a quick, wary look to her left, but Black Betty’s head with its sweeping horns appeared to be firmly locked into the stanchions with a metal bar. The cow was placidly munching hay,
seemingly without a care in the world, just switching her tail at flies from time to time. Abby gingerly settled her butt on the stool—and found that her knees were now on a level with her chin.

“Get comfortable,” Sage said, and she threw him a
yeah, right
look, which he ignored.

He hunkered down beside her and placed a stainless-steel bucket between her knees, and sort of under the
cow.

“Now,” he said, turning his head to look into her eyes, “you can set the bucket on the ground, like this, but it’s better if you can manage to hold it between your knees, so you can move it out of her way if she decides to kick or put her foot in it.”

He was so close she could see herself reflected in the tiny twin mirrors of his eyes. She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone
dry as dust. Lines deepened around his eyes, and she nodded and hurriedly looked away.

“Okay, you’ve seen me do it…you know what to do.” His voice was soft and deep, and very close to her ear. So close she could feel his breath stirring wisps of her hair that had been left out of the braid.

She gave a nervous little laugh. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure it’s not as easy as you make it
look. Like playing the flute, remember? I couldn’t make that work, either.”

There was a pause. She could hear her own heart beating. She imagined she could hear his. He let go a sigh of breath and reached for her hand.

“Okay, here…” He took her hand and held it, then separated two of her fingers and encircled them with his hand. “It’s like this…you don’t tug, you don’t yank. Just a
gentle downward squeeze. Feel it?”

Feel it?
It seemed incredibly, unbelievably erotic. Somehow, she managed to nod.

He smiled into her eyes. “Now, you do it. Here—take my finger. Now, squeeze…”

Laughter bumped around in her chest, and yet, weirdly, she felt like bursting into tears.
Why is this so terrifying? It’s milking a cow, for God’s sake, not jumping off a cliff.

And
yet…for some reason, that was exactly what it felt like.

“That’s it, you’ve got it,” he whispered in her ear as he took hold of her waist and turned her back toward the cow. “Now, try it on her.”

She nodded, and he held her steady with his hands on her shoulders while she leaned forward and took hold of the cow’s teat. Her forehead rested on the great beast’s flank, which was warm
and smelled of…cow? Something earthy, anyway, and not at all unpleasant. She bit down on her lip, concentrated…squeezed the way she’d squeezed Sage’s fingers.

A stream of milk shot out and hit the bucket with a satisfying percussive sound. Abby jerked back and gasped. “Oh, my God—I did it.”

“Yep.” He let go of her shoulders and drew back a little, giving her an encouraging nod as his
forearm came to rest on one knee. “Now, let’s see you try it with both hands.”

“Oh,
both
hands he wants now,” she grumbled, but she was all but bursting with self-confidence and pride. She could do this. She knew she could. She
was
doing it.
I’m actually milking a cow.

She tried to imagine Sunny milking a cow, but it was simply beyond her.

Within a few minutes, after some fits
and starts, she had two streams of milk swishing into the bucket in a slow but steady rhythm. She was surprised at how easy it was—except that now the muscles in her forearms were starting to cramp.

“Boy, speaking of muscles I didn’t know I had.” She paused to shake her hands, first one, then the other, not wanting to admit she was already getting tired.

Sage laughed softly. “You get
used to it. Builds a nice little arm muscle for you.”

She glanced down at his arm, at the shirtsleeve buttoned to his wrist, then lifted her gaze to his face. His smile was sort of goofy, actually, but it made something flip-flop inside her chest. Hurriedly, she returned her attention to her task, blinked away the lingering vision of that smile, and shot a few more milk streams into the
bucket.

She was too warm, suddenly. Burning up—and how could she not be, with Sage on one side of her, the cow in front, the sun beating down on her back. The air seemed dense and hard to breathe, and she felt as if her whole body was vibrating, deep down inside.

“It’s foaming,” she mumbled, staring blindly at the bucket, and her lips felt thick and barely able to form words. “Why
does it foam?”

Close beside her, Sage shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know—just does.”

She glanced at him. Licked her lips. “What does it taste like?”

He shrugged again, his eyes shining. “Milk.”

“No, I mean…don’t you have to do something to it, before you— Can you drink it just like this?”

“Sure you can.”

“How—”

He reached one arm past her and she let
her hand fall away from the cow’s teat, and his take its place. Her shoulder was pressed against his chest. She didn’t dare look at him now.

I know where this is going. And I don’t care.

“Open your mouth,” he said.

He knew it was a silly, showoff-y think to do, the kind of thing he might have done back in high school to impress some girl. And maybe that was why he did it, because
he felt carefree and young, not like the shy boy he’d been back in high school, but one with all the confidence and self-esteem he’d earned as he’d grown into a man. Although, ironically, he no longer felt the need to impress anyone. Especially this woman.

The revelation came to him in a moment of thrilling clarity, taking his breath away. He would remember this moment, he knew, the way
he remembered the first time he’d seen a bald eagle flying high against a deep blue sky, the first fish he’d ever caught. This…the moment he knew he could truly be himself with this woman. That with her he would never have to pretend to be someone or something he wasn’t.

The moment he knew she was
the
woman for him.

“Open your mouth,” he said again. And she did, and then she closed
her eyes, too, and humbled him with her trust.

He aimed a stream of milk at her open mouth, and she caught it, laughing with sheer delight as the milk ran down her chin.

She was still laughing when he kissed her.

Chapter 9

H
e kissed her joyfully, with unreserved happiness, and she kissed him back the same way. He could feel her body trembling a little, and wondered if it was with the same profound relief and awe of discovery that filled him. He never for a moment doubted the rightness of what he was doing, and in fact would have defended with a fierce and primitive resolve against anyone—be
it Sam Malone, or his mother, or the Fates—who challenged his right to this woman. The woman he had chosen.

Her hand lay soft and warm on his cheek, and he felt her lips form a smile against his. When he turned his face to press a quick, shaken kiss to the palm of her hand, she made a happy little humming sound deep in her throat. He smiled, too, and returned to her mouth, savoring its mysteries
for as long as he dared before finally pulling back, just slightly. Their foreheads touched. They whispered and laughed softly together, like children sharing secrets.

“You taste good.”

“Mmm…yeah. Like milk, probably.”

“Nectar of the gods.”

“More, please.”

He obliged, and felt godlike, himself, as she laid her head back in the curve of his arm in complete and joyous
surrender. The bucket of milk sat forgotten between her feet, and Black Betty munched on, oblivious, lazily switching her tail at the occasional fly....

The milk stool tipped over backward. Sage wasn’t prepared for the sudden shifting of the weight in his arms, and the kiss broke apart as they both tumbled laughing into the straw.

They couldn’t stay there, obviously. Of course not,
although Abby wished with all her heart the moment could go on forever.

Slowly, with some reluctance, they helped each other to their feet, brushing and tugging at clothing, laughing and exclaiming and apologizing. Sage retrieved the bucket and stool, while Abby brushed herself off. She straightened up and they faced each other, and the words and laughter died.

Sage reached out his
hand and plucked a piece of straw out of her hair, then let his hand slide slowly down to cradle the side of her head. She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against his palm, like a cat being petted.

I’ve never felt like this before,
she thought.
I feel…

How did she feel? Shocked and frail and bewildered, as if she’d been hit by some terrible catastrophe…and yet, what kind of catastrophe
could make her feel so
happy?
Desperately, painfully happy. How could such a mishmash of feelings be, unless…

My God, is this what it feels like to fall in love?

Sage was gazing at her, his mouth curved in a smile, his eyes no longer somber but burning with a strange dark light.

“Take the milk into the cold room,” he said, his voice like a gentle rasp on her auditory nerves. “You’ll
see a pan and a strainer set up on the counter. Pour the milk into the strainer and just leave the bucket in the sink.”

She nodded, licking her lips. There were so many things she wanted to ask him. And she couldn’t make a sound.

“There’s something I have to do.” He brushed her lips with the pad of his thumb, and that seemed to her as erotic as a kiss. “Okay?”

She nodded again,
and they turned to walk together into the barn. At the cold room door, Sage handed her the bucket, waited for her to step inside, then turned away. Just before the door closed, Abby saw him take a cell phone out of his shirt pocket.

Though still shaken, she poured the milk into the strainer the way Sage had told her. She set the bucket in the deep stainless-steel sink and ran some water
into it, then went back to the door. It hadn’t latched, and opened soundlessly when she gave it a slight push. Through the slowly widening crack she could see him standing almost where she’d last seen him, a few feet away from the door, with his back to her. His head was bowed, and his hand held the phone pressed to his ear. He wasn’t talking, but obviously listening…waiting.

Then, abruptly,
he lifted his head and let out an exasperated breath. He spoke in a deep, guttural growl. “Okay, look, I don’t know where you are or why you’re not answering your phone. I hope you get this message, because…well, something’s come up. And, I, uh…I really need to talk to you. It’s important.” He paced a couple of steps, gazing up at the rafters, then spoke again with quiet urgency. “Okay, I guess
you’re still determined not to come down here, so…if the mountain won’t come to Mohammed…” He gave a bark of frustrated laughter. “So…this is me—Mohammed—and I’m coming to the mountain. Okay? I hope you get this message, because I’m coming up there. Now. See you…”

Abby bumped the door loudly, then pushed it open. Sage turned as he was tucking the cell phone into his shirt pocket.

“Are
we going riding today?” she asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear what he’d say.
I know you’re going to find Sam. Please, please don’t lie to me.

His eyes, that a moment ago had been hard and black as flint, seemed to soften as they came to rest on her. “Tomorrow,” he said gently. “I have…something I need to do today. I’ll… There’s someplace I need to go.”

He hesitated
as if he would say more, and Abby tried to find answers to the questions swarming in her mind in the bottomless depths of his eyes.
What just happened, Sage? Are we going to pretend it didn’t? I don’t know what it means, or how it makes me feel. Do you?

His smile flickered briefly, and then he took a feedbag down from its hook and turned to the door. She watched him as he walked away, counting
his footsteps with her own pounding heartbeats.

“Sage.” He halted and turned in a pool of sunshine. “You’re going to see him, aren’t you?” He didn’t reply, and she walked slowly toward him, joining him in the light. “My grandfather—Sam Malone.” At arm’s length away from him she paused, and gave a shrug of apology. He opened his mouth to say something and she rushed to get there first. “I,
um…I heard you on the phone just now. That was Sam, wasn’t it?”

“Voice mail.” Sage gestured with the feedbag. “I was leaving him a message.”

“Saying you’re coming up to see him—I heard that. So you do know where he is.”

He let out a breath and lifted his eyes to gaze at the mountains. “I know where he probably is, yeah. There’s an old cow camp in one of the high meadows. He’s
got a cabin up there. It’s pretty primitive, but he likes it that way. It’s kind of like his hideaway. He goes there when…I don’t know, just when he doesn’t want to deal with…life, I guess.”

“You mean, he doesn’t want to deal with
us.
Right? His granddaughters. Why did he ask us to come, then, if he doesn’t want to see us?”

“It’s not that he doesn’t want to see you.” They were walking
together, now, moving slowly toward the meadow where the horses were grazing in the early-morning sun. Abby was shivering, more with a surfeit of emotions than the chill in the air.

She glanced over at him. “What, then? Even Rachel thinks—”

He exhaled sharply. “He’d probably kill me for saying this, but if you want to know the truth, I think he’s afraid.”

She gave a snort of
laughter. “Yeah, right. This is the ex-stuntman. The man who shot down a helicopter with a deer rifle. And…why would he be afraid of meeting his own granddaughters?”

He was silent as they walked a few steps more. She watched a smile come and go. “Sam’s…a hard man to understand, I’ll grant you. He’s probably the smartest, bravest man I’ve ever known, except for one thing. And that’s relationships.
Particularly with people he really cares about. People closest to him. Like family. He…well, let’s just say he doesn’t have all that great a track record in that department.”

“He said that,” Abby said. “In the letter.”

Sage nodded. “He believes he’s got one last chance, and that’s with you—his four granddaughters. He doesn’t want to mess this up, like he did with his wives and kids.
That’s what he’s afraid of.”

Abby’s heart felt like a lump of lead.
Too late,
a voice in her head intoned, like a bell tolling someone’s death.
Too late… Too late…

“You said you needed to talk to him,” she blurted out, touching his arm, tense with urgency. “I heard you—in the message you left. I need to talk to him, too. If you’re going to see him, please—can I come with you?”

He paused and turned to her, and the look on his face stopped her breath. He touched her cheek. “It’s you I need to talk to him about. Understand? You. Me. This. Whatever
this
is, between us.”

She nodded, but couldn’t speak. Her eyes, gazing back at him, began to burn and fill with tears. The kiss…the memory of it…was suddenly there between them, huge and inescapable, as if it were happening
all over again, right then, at that moment. She licked her lips…saw his throat move as he swallowed.

He took a breath…looked away as he let it out in a ragged gust. “I don’t know how he’ll feel…you being his granddaughter. The thing is, Sam raised me. He’s the closest thing to a father I’ve got.” His voice sounded hoarse and raw. “I know he respects me—maybe even loves me. I know I love
and respect him too much to go behind his back. So, I need to talk to him. Okay?”

All she could do was stare at him, wanting desperately to tell him what was in her heart. Terrified of what he would think of her if she did.
You know what? It’s all right, Sage. And here’s the irony. It’s all right because once I tell him I’m not his granddaughter, he won’t care.

But the question is,
will you still want me, once you know the truth about me? Once you know what a fraud I am?

“I really need to talk to him, too,” she whispered. “To Sam. My grandfather. Please?”

He let his hand slip down to cradle the side of her neck, and his thumb traced the line of her jaw. His smile was tender. “Sunny, it’s a long ride, even for me. Remember how stiff you were yesterday, after our
short little jaunt? And, there’s a storm coming in, too. Supposed to turn a lot colder.” His lips brushed hers, and she caught a hopeful breath. “It’s best you stay here…keep an eye on things for me. I’ll try and convince him to come back with me. Maybe. I hope.” His smile flashed, and then he left her.

She watched him slip through the gate and stride across the meadow, and the horses come
trotting out to meet him. She watched him slip the feedbag over Diamond’s nose and lead him back to the barn while the other horses followed just to keep him company. She stood by, miserably hugging herself, and watched while he saddled and bridled Diamond, then took a heavy denim jacket lined with sheepskin from the tack room and tied it onto the back of the saddle. Silently, she watched him take
a handful of granola bars and a bottle of water from the cold room and tuck them into a leather pouch on the back of the saddle. And all the while, the aching knot inside her chest grew bigger and heavier.

Sage called to Freckles, and when the dog came, wriggling with eagerness, he snapped a small chain, the other end of which encircled one of the barn’s big wooden support columns, to his
collar. The dog sat on his haunches and whined softly, and his disappointment seemed to echo the heaviness in Abby’s own heart.

“Stay, Freckles…good boy,” Sage said, patting the dog’s head. And then, to Abby, “You can let him loose in a little while, after I leave. This is just so he won’t try to follow me.”

She nodded but didn’t try to speak. He gazed at her for a long moment, his
eyes somber and searching. She thought he would kiss her again…and oh, how desperately she wanted him to, knowing it would probably be the last time he ever would.

But he didn’t. Instead, he turned, gathered up Diamond’s reins and led him through the barn door and out into the sunshine and a rising wind. He lifted himself effortlessly into the saddle, gave her one last wave and rode away
at an easy trot, only breaking into a lope when they reached the open meadow.

Abby watched horse and rider until they vanished from sight behind the corrals, and she had seen that they were heading up the meadow toward the rocks where she’d found Sage playing his flute. Then she moved quickly and decisively, taking down a feedbag from its hook and heading for the meadow where the horses
still dawdled, disappointed at being left behind. They came to her eagerly, now, since she was not only no longer a stranger, but also associated with that bag of tasty grain. Imitating Sage, she made sure all the horses got a handful before she singled out Morning Glory and somehow managed to get the bag over her nose and the straps over her ears.

As she was leading the mare back to the
barn, the magnitude of what she was doing, the enormity of the risk she was taking, hit her like a buffeting wind. So did the adrenaline. Her limbs felt jerky and awkward, her body felt filled to bursting with energy. It occurred to her that it was like being backstage with the rest of the chorus line, waiting for the curtain to go up on opening night.
Pure terror. Pure excitement.
Her heart beating
so fast she could barely breathe, and her legs so shaky she wondered how they could hold her weight.

But…on each of those opening nights, the curtain did go up, the show did go on. Abby did not stop breathing, and her legs did not fail her.

I’ll be okay. I can do this.

In spite of fingers that didn’t seem to do what they were told, she saddled and bridled Morning Glory exactly
as Sage had taught her, while one of the barn cats wound itself around her legs and Freckles hungrily watched her every move. Imitating Sage’s preparations, she looked in the tack room for a jacket, found a poncho made of some sort of thick woven material that appeared to be wool and looked as if it would be both warm and itchy, which she tied to the back of the saddle. She took the last of the granola
bars from the cold room and broke two into a small milk pan, which she put beside Freckles along with a can of water. He whined when she knelt to hug him, looking as worried as it was possible for such a perpetually happy dog to look.