Rancher's Wife. Anne Marie Winston
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behind her, unsmiling. “Angel, my brother, Day Kincaid, older than me by enough years to make him incredibly bossy. Day, this is Angel Vandervere. Angel is a friend of mine from high school. She doesn’t live around here anymore, and I invited her to spend some time with me while I’m at the ranch.”
Angel held out her hand and took a deep breath, determined to get past the awkward moment. Angel Vandervere, not her stage name, Angelique Sumner. Though she assumed Day Kincaid recognized her face from her movies, she was grateful to Dulcie for emphasizing her need for privacy. “It’s nice to meet you,” she murmured.
He didn’t take the offered hand, merely nodded his head once in a curt gesture. “How long will you be staying, Miss Vandervere?”
“I asked her to stay for two weeks,” Dulcie inserted before she could respond. Then the smaller woman addressed Angel again. “I apologize for my brother’s unfriendliness earlier. Day thought you were someone his ex-wife hired to kidnap my niece.”
She knew her eyes widened in shock. That explained his behavior. It didn’t excuse it, she decided, rubbing her arm where her elbow and the car door had had a forceful encounter. But it certainly did explain it. A bubble of slightly hysterical, relieved laughter rose in her throat and she hastily cut it short. After the strain and fear she’d been under for the past few months, she’d looked forward to getting away from L.A. and seeing Dulcie again. How hilarious! That she should be attacked the moment she set foot on New Mexican soil.
The urge to laugh died abruptly as a movement on the porch caught her eye. “I believe your daughter needs some reassurance, Mr. Kincaid,” she said. The sight of the little girl, who was now cowering behind one of the porch posts, lent a decided coolness to her tone. “You appear to have terrified someone other than me.”
“You should know better than to offer candy to a child you don’t know,” he retorted. “If she’s terrified, it’s your fault. Candy is an invitation most children can’t resist. If she takes it from a stranger who turns out to be a friend, then how am I supposed to make her understand it could be dangerous?” Without giving her a chance to reply, he turned away, walking over to lift his daughter into his arms again.
Angel stared at Day’s retreating back as he vanished into the house with the little girl. “Wow. He’s certainly prickly.”
Dulcie gave a rueful sigh. “That’s my brother—dripping with charm.” She gave Angel another concerned once-over. “Are you really all right? From where I stood, it looked as if he was being pretty rough.”
“He was, but I’ll survive.”
Dulcie seemed about to comment further, then apparently thought better of it. “I can’t believe you’re finally here. But you look tired. Why don’t I show you where your room is and you can rest until dinner?”
* * *
Midnight. And she hadn’t been able to sleep. Again.
Angel leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting for a cup of tea to heat in the microwave. She’d hoped it might be different if she felt safe. Here, there would be no telephone calls with silence on the other end. Here, there would be no anonymous letters with carefully typed threats. Even her agent didn’t know where she was.
Her agent—holy smokes! Angel struck her forehead with the palm of her hand. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten about Karl. She’d have to call him first thing in the morning.
She lifted the cup of herbal tea out of the microwave and wandered into the large, informal living room, shutting off the kitchen light and switching on a single small lamp as she went. The room was decorated in soft earth tones that suited its Southwestern motif. Tea in hand, she was about to sink into one of the comfortable-looking recliners when a display of photos on the rough beams of the floor-to-ceiling shelves caught her eye. Curiosity aroused, she moved closer.
The photos covered three shelves. The first one she examined was a black and white of a very small girl riding astride a somewhat older boy, who knelt on the floor as if he were the child’s pony. The children both had dark curly hair—the little girl’s reached nearly to her waist and she looked as if she was giggling. Dulcie and Day.
There were several more of Dulcie, school pictures in which childhood’s gamine charm clearly showed the promise of beauty. And there was an equal number of her brother. Day smiling and laughing, white teeth bared in a grin as he changed from boy to man. He looked so approachable. Was this really the same man she’d met earlier?
Slowly she moved on, examining the other pictures on the shelves. A second one was filled with even older photos. Kincaid parents and grandparents, stiff and unsmiling in formal photographs. The third shelf...
Baby pictures. Toddler pictures. Scene after scene of little Beth Ann as she grew from a tiny scrap of black-haired humanity into the sweet, shy tot Angel had seen today. Before she could sidestep it, the old hurt had reared up and grabbed her by the throat.
Emmie. She placed a hand across her mouth to prevent the sob that caught in her chest. If things had been different, she might have had a home like this, and these might be pictures of Emmie...her own precious child, who would be sleeping where she belonged, in her own little bed in her mother’s house.
But things weren’t different. She’d made a decision that she’d pay for every day for the rest of her life. Each time she remembered that her daughter belonged to another mother and father now, each time she remembered the wrenching agony of handing her two-month-old baby to its adoptive parents, each time that Adrienne O’Brien sent her the yearly report and photo that the private adoption had included, each time she saw someone else’s little girl, she would pay for her poor judgment.
Unable to look at the pictures for another second, she headed out of the living room. The darkness was absolute once she turned off the lamp. In L.A., nothing, but nothing, was as dark as it was here in Luna County, where people were outnumbered by cattle and a person had to drive miles to see the lights of a town.
She felt her way back to the kitchen in the dark and plunked her mug down on the counter. When the furniture had assumed a shadowy outline, she began to move back to her bedroom. But she wasn’t able to stop the flood of memories as easily as she’d turned off the light.
She hadn’t allowed herself to look back after the awful day when she’d given up her baby to a couple who could give her more than she could. Blindly, almost without forethought or care, she’d concentrated on the modeling and drama courses in which she’d enrolled. She’d been so focused on avoiding any time to think that she’d taken any role offered, from that very first commercial spot until she’d woken up one day to the realization that she was at the top of her profession, with an Oscar nomination to her credit and numerous glowing reviews.
What was she going to do if she followed through with her decision to stop acting? She moved into the dark hallway and felt for the banister at the foot of the stairs. People would say she was crazy, and maybe she was, but her desire for normalcy, privacy, for a life in which she was just another face in the crowd, outweighed anything else. Everything, perhaps, except her need to keep busy. To keep from thinking. Because if she had too much time on her hands, regrets about Emmie would consume her—
A large solid object barreled squarely into her, nearly bowling her over backward. She gasped and managed to bite back the scream that nearly escaped. Reflexively, she clutched at the object to keep herself from falling. Soft fabric. Hard muscle. Her palm scraped across a stubbled cheek. A man. Fear instantly closed her throat.
“What the hell...?”
Reason reasserted itself at the plainly bewildered tone in the masculine voice, a voice she recognized. Get a grip, girl, you’re safe here.
A small light pierced the darkness as the man who’d bumped into her snapped on a tiny lamp standing on a table against the wall. Angel blinked in its sudden glow, assessing Day Kincaid as her eyes adjusted. She’d been too unnerved by his unexpected antipathy earlier to really look at the man. But in the lamplight she realized that he was...quite something to behold.