The Pretender (20 page)

“I can’t— We can’t…be together, Sunny. Ever.”

She shook her head; the words made no sense to her, like something spoken in a foreign language.

But she must have understood, because she answered him. “Why? I don’t understand.” Her voice trembled, and she fought to control it. “Is it Sam? Did you
talk to him? Does he object because…I’m his granddaughter?”

His lips stretched, showing his teeth in a travesty of a smile. He began to laugh, silently, wrenchingly. She’d never seen such pain in the face of a man who hadn’t shed a tear.

“No,” he said, “because I am his son.”

Chapter 12

T
his is a joke,
Abby thought.
It has to be. Some gigantic cosmic joke.

Voices were screaming inside her head:
Tell him. Tell him now. Tell him it doesn’t matter that he’s Sam Malone’s son, because you’re no relation to him at all. You can fix this.

But the shouts were silenced by another voice, this one sadly whispering,
No, you can’t. Right now, he thinks
he’s your uncle. If you tell him the truth, he’ll know you for a liar and a fraud.

“Wow,” she whispered into the silence, and Sage gave a sharp, bitter laugh.

“Yeah, hell of an irony, huh? I find out Sam’s my father, and I don’t even know if the man is still alive.”

With flawless theatrical timing, at that moment a helicopter swooped over them at treetop level and dropped into
the meadow.

“That’s Sam’s chopper,” Sage said.

Once again, Abby felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

Freckles came racing past them, heading for the meadow. Sage took off after him, breaking into a jog a few yards down the lane. After a moment, dimly aware that Josie, Rachel and J.J. had come out onto the hacienda’s front steps, Abby followed.

When she reached the place
where the trees ended and the lane straightened out to run parallel to the meadow, she halted. Up ahead, she could see Sage and another man helping a third man through the barbed-wire fence. She was pretty sure the other man helping Sage must be Alex Branson, Sam’s attorney. He was tall and slim, with a natural elegance that said
city
even dressed in casual clothes. The other man wore jeans and
cowboy boots, and a faded blue flannel shirt that was the twin of the one Abby had slept in the night before. His hair and beard were white, and one hand was heavily bandaged. Out in the meadow, the chopper’s blades still turned slowly.

She heard Sage say, “It’s about time you showed up. We were beginning to think you might be dead.”

The white-haired man straightened up, brushed himself
off and gave a belligerent wave with his good hand. “Yeah, I knew you’d sic that sheriff on me—the one who’s about to become my grandson-in-law.” He cackled with laughter, and his voice was cracked and hoarse with age. “Figured I’d better come and convince you all I’m still alive before a bunch of those damn lab rats start crawling all over my personal property.”

The men had begun walking
toward the house. As they strolled along the lane, Sage said something Abby couldn’t hear. Then all three men evidently noticed at the same time that someone was standing in the middle of the road.

This is ridiculous,
Abby thought.

Here he was, the man himself, the legendary Sam Malone. The man she’d come so far—under questionable circumstances, to say the least—and wanted so badly
and waited so long to meet. And she seemed to have taken root in the hard-baked dirt of the lane. She was trembling, one shallow breath away from bursting into tears. This was it—the moment she’d been waiting for. She could tell him, now, and it would all be over. Over…

Sam Malone turned his keen blue eyes on her, and she flinched.

Sage made a gesture with his hand. His face was impassive.
“Sam, meet your granddaughter, Sunshine.”

Abby felt her hand being swallowed up in one that was big and rough, dry and gnarled as an old tree root. Sam Malone didn’t speak, but his eyes held a gleam that seemed to see right through her skin, flesh and bone, down to where she kept her secrets.

Through a humming in her ears, she heard Sage’s voice. “Sunny’s been crazy to meet you. So
crazy she followed me up to the cabin—in a storm, no less.”

Sam was still holding her hand, still looking deep into her eyes. She opened her mouth, but words wouldn’t come, and instead she swallowed paper.

At that moment, the rest of the family came hurrying up to join them, and Abby slipped away to the edge of the crowd now gathered around the prodigal Sam Malone.

The old hound
dog, Moonshine, reached them first. Sam stooped down and gently grasped one of the dog’s long ears in his one good hand. “Well, howdy there, ol’ fella, I think you and me have met before.” He gave the dog’s head a good rub, then turned to Rachel, who was hugging herself, shivering with excitement. “And you, too, little lady.” It was an exaggerated imitation of John Wayne, and Rachel burst out
with a laugh that was half a sob. “How’s that great-grandson of mine?” Sam asked.

“Good…he’s great—I can’t wait for you to meet him,” Rachel said, still half in tears but laughing, too.

“Looking forward to that.” Sam turned to J.J. and shook his hand. “And this is the sheriff that saved my granddaughter’s life. How’s that leg coming along, son?”

Abby didn’t hear J.J.’s reply.
She watched the little group as if from a great distance, as if it was all happening on a stage, and she was the only audience.

They’re a family. And not yours. They were never yours. You were only pretending.

They are Sunny’s family. It should have been Sunny standing here, not you.

She tried to imagine Sunny standing in her place, and could not. According to Pauly, Sunny had
only wanted the old man’s money.

Sunny didn’t deserve this. She didn’t care about these people. But I do. I do!

She was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion—anger, envy, longing—once more the little girl desperately wanting to be part of a family but always left on the outside, looking in through locked windows.

Sam was petting and talking to Freckles. Then he turned to Sage and
said, “How’ve you been, son?”

And Sage replied in an even tone, “I’m just great…Dad.”

Sam’s mask of charm slipped, and he seemed to sag, suddenly and for the first time looking close to the age he must have been. He looked past Sage to where Josie was standing by herself, silent and stoic. “Aw, Josie…” he said in a cracking voice, “you told him?”

“Don’t blame her, Pop. I didn’t
leave her much choice.” Sage’s face was impassive, but his voice held all the rage, disappointment and grief he kept locked inside.

For a long moment, Sam looked at him. Then he looked at Abby, and she realized she was quietly crying. He nodded, and said, “Ah…I see.”

For Abby, it was as if the house lights had come on, and she was once more part of the drama. This wasn’t a play, it
was happening to
her.
This was her story, her part to play. This was her cue; all she had to do was speak her lines.

She wiped her cheeks, lifted her head and stepped forward. She cleared her throat and spoke for the balcony seats…and an audience of one. “Mr. Malone, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Piercing her with his daggerlike gaze, he nodded. “I’m listening.”

She
hauled in a deep breath. “I’m not your granddaughter. My name is Abigail Lindgren. Sunny was my roommate.” She heard a gasp—from Rachel? From Josie? She blocked it out and went on. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but she’s dead. She was murdered—they don’t know who did it, or why. That’s what I came here to tell you. I thought you’d be— I never meant to—”
Oh, my God, what comes next? I’ve
forgotten my line.

In a panic, she looked around at the five people gathered there in the dusty lane. At Josie’s face, and Rachel’s, both stricken…shocked. At J.J., who was frowning, at Alex Branson, the lawyer, whose face held no expression at all. Her eyes glanced fearfully off Sage, who looked as if he’d been hit with a club. Finally, she brought them back to Sam. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I’m so, so sorry.”

Sam merely nodded. “So am I, young lady. So am I.” Oddly, he seemed…not angry, but sad.

Abby looked at Alex Branson. A strange, cocooning calm had settled over her. “I’m going now, but I want you to know I’ll pay you back—as soon as I can—when I get a job. For the plane ticket, and what I spent on the credit card.”

She paused and glanced once more at Sage,
who still hadn’t spoken. He was gazing off toward the mountains, and she could see a muscle working in the hinge of his jaw. For a moment longer she hesitated, then, with her head down and her arms folded across her waist, she began walking back up the lane toward the hacienda.

“Hey—hold on.” That was J.J. Abby stopped and looked back. Trembling all over. Trying desperately to hold herself
together, until she could make a dignified exit.

J.J. turned to Sam. “You’re not going to just let her walk away, are you? She’s committed fraud, at the very least. Not to mention there’s a pretty strong motive suggesting she could be guilty of murder.”

Abby caught her breath, then went cold and clammy. This possibility had never occurred to her. But then, through the rushing sound
in her ears she heard Sam Malone’s voice, cracked but strong.

“Ah, hell, this little gal didn’t murder anybody—when my granddaughter was killed she was working at a club in front of a few dozen witnesses.”

The earth seemed to tilt beneath her feet. For a moment she couldn’t utter a sound. Finally, she whispered, “You knew?”

“And,” Sam continued, still speaking to J.J., “I don’t
believe she’s guilty of fraud, either, since I’m the person she’s supposed to have defrauded, and I was in on it the whole time—at least that’s what my lawyer tells me. Isn’t that right, Alex?”

Branson exhaled in a put-upon way. “Well, pretty much, yeah.” He then turned to Abby and said kindly, “Sam tells me there’s no need for you to leave, Miss Lindgren. As far as he’s concerned, you’re
welcome to stay here as long as you want to.”

She glanced at Sage, who shook his head almost imperceptibly and looked away. Pain sliced through her, but she was expecting it and didn’t wince. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you,” she said to Sam. “But…I don’t think I can.”

She began walking again, and this time no one stopped her.

For a moment, no one spoke. Everyone just looked
at each other. Then, Rachel sniffed, wiped away a tear and said in a small voice, “Well, I liked her.”

J.J. didn’t say anything, just gathered her into his arms, crutches and all, and held her, stroking her hair.

Sage had had all he could take. The emotions bottled up inside him were close to exploding, and he desperately needed to get to a quiet place where nobody could see him before
they did. He turned away and started walking, heading down the lane toward the ranch…his house. Behind him, he could hear Josie talking in an artificially bright voice, inviting everyone, including the chopper pilot—who had been tying down the chopper and was only now climbing through the fence and coming to join the party—up to the hacienda for supper. Someone called Sage’s name, but he gave
the pilot a wave and kept on going.

“Hold up, there, son. Wait for an old man.” Sam’s voice sounded out-of-breath and feeble.

What could he do? As bad as he felt, he couldn’t ignore Sam Malone…just ignore him and keep walking. For so many reasons. He halted and waited without turning around. He could hear Sam’s wheezing breath, and his footsteps scraping unevenly in the dirt road.

“You just going to let her go? Just like that?”

Sage shrugged and stared fixedly at the distant mountains. “What else can I do?”

“Well, hell, you could at least talk to her.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or swear. Softly, patiently, he said, “What’s the point? She’s a thief and a liar. She lied to you, to me, to all of us.”

Sam dismissed that with a rude noise and
a wave of his hand. “She never stole a thing, I gave it to her. And shoot fire, son, everybody lies, sometimes. You, me, everybody. Lying doesn’t make for a bad person.”

Because he was hurting so badly, Sage laughed. “This isn’t a little white lie, Sam. This is a great big ol’ lie.” His face hurt. He scrubbed at it with both hands. Tried to laugh again and felt the muscles in his face rebel.
He walked a few paces while he struggled for control, knowing the one thing he could not let himself do was fall apart in front of Sam Malone.
My father.

He filled himself full of breath and turned back to the old man. “Even if I talk to her…even if she can explain this… The point is, she lied to me once. And she’s an actress, she lies for a living. How am I supposed to ever trust her?”

Sam just looked at him, with his beard working and his eyes swimming with sadness. Then he shook his head and poked Sage in the chest with a finger that was gnarled as an old root. “Son, everything you just said is true—and it ain’t worth a damn. You can rationalize all you want to, but what it boils down to is you bein’ a chip off this worthless old block after all. Because you’re fixing
to ruin the best thing that ever happened to you, and too damn blind and proud to see it.”

That was about it for Sage. Anger boiled within him, and he brushed aside Sam’s hand. “Is that right? Talking about lies, that’s a pretty big one you and Mom have been telling me all these years. How could you not tell me you’re my father?” He clawed furiously at the band that held his hair clubbed
to the back of his head until it broke and his hair tumbled free into the wind. For the first time in his life he felt kinship with his ancestors—or their cousins—who smeared their faces with color and went off to slay their enemies. “Do you know,” he shouted, “what kind of difference that might have made in my life?”