The Secrets of Bell River. Kathleen O'Brien
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crummy apartments all her life, hand to mouth—and that was on a good day. On bad days, she went hungry. The Wrights were landowners, Colorado heiresses who, in spite of their childhood calamity, had always possessed every tree, rock, building and animal they could see.
The gap between their worlds was as wide as the gap between earthlings and martians.
Besides, though they might not be shocked to meet a secret sister, they would undoubtedly be dismayed. Obviously Bell River Ranch was working very hard to leave its scandalous past behind. Nothing proclaimed civilized and unsullied more than this well-kept, orderly cluster of buildings with sweet blue smoke curling out of chimneys and sunshine sparkling off pristine windows.
“Sorry, Mom,” Tess muttered as she parked the car beside the charming wood-and-glass building that housed the spa. “A bastard of Johnny Wright would be about as welcome here as a hole in a lifeboat.”
She killed the engine and regrouped. Okay, no thrilled surprise family reunion. She’d always known that was greeting-card schlock, anyhow, not real life.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t work here. Work was something Tess knew how to do—and she desperately needed a good job. Her mother’s illness had cleaned her out emotionally, and the divorce from Craig had done the same financially.
All the Wright sisters had to do was hire her. That shouldn’t be hard to pull off. She was a damn good massage therapist with extensive training, enthusiastic recommendations and five years of experience. Hire her, pay her, maybe appreciate her talents a little, and she wouldn’t ask for anything more.
Well, she admitted as she got out of the car, she’d satisfy her curiosity about her birth father at the same time, of course. But that wouldn’t cost anyone anything.
“Hi,” she said as she opened the door to the spa. She was greeted by soft harp music, and the aroma of expensive lotions mixing with the sharp, piney scent of new construction. The spa had obviously been added quite recently, no expenses spared.
“Good morning,” the young blonde goddess behind the streamlined wooden reception desk said. She gave Tess the official “serenity” smile known to any spa employee. Cool, unflappable, full of grace.
You can be a goddess, too, the look was designed to whisper to the client. A few procedures, a small fee...
Tess felt like applauding. A fabulous, incredibly subtle sales pitch. But all wasted. The goddess obviously hadn’t yet figured out that Tess wasn’t a paying client.
A real client, a late-middle-aged woman in crisp navy blue pants and starched white shirt, sat in the waiting room, perched on the edge of one of the stylish armchairs. She’d been reading a celebrity magazine, but glanced up sharply when Tess entered.
“You haven’t forgotten me, have you? My appointment was five minutes ago.” The woman’s voice was as crisp as her clothes, but held an undercurrent of chronic dissatisfaction. Her frown had been so immediate, and the vertical lines between her eyebrows were so firmly grooved, that Tess had to assume scowling was her instinctive reaction to almost anything.
A fussbudget. Tess smiled—her own inner spa employee taking over—though she didn’t expect the scowl to go away, and it didn’t. She’d encountered clients like this, and she knew how hopeless it was. These people wouldn’t ever relax, not if massaged for a week with angel feathers.
“Of course not, Mrs. Fillmore,” the goddess purred, unfazed. “How could we ever forget you?”
Tess glanced at the goddess/receptionist. Was she imagining things, or did Blondie’s placid voice have an undercurrent of irony?
“I’m Tess Spencer,” Tess said. “I have an appointment with Rowena Wright.”
“Ah.” The young woman looked relieved behind that perfect smile. She wasn’t quite as cool and impenetrable as Tess had first thought. She actually said a lot with those blue eyes. “Good to meet you, Tess. I’m Bree. I’m sure Rowena will be here any minute, but—”
“Cancel the search-and-rescue team. I’m here!” Behind Tess, the door blew open with a swoosh of clean, frosty air. “I’m so sorry I’m late, Bree. Don’t shoot me. It’s insane at the house. Absolutely insane!”
Tess turned to see a willowy young woman shaking snow from a tangle of long, black hair. The flakes fell to the floor, adding to the crusty crystals left by the tread of her expensive boots. When she finished, she raked back her hair with one hand and lifted her face.
Tess stopped breathing for a second—not because the newcomer was beautiful, though she was absolutely that. When you worked with a pampered, well-heeled clientele, you got accustomed to physical beauty. This woman took Tess’s breath away with her sheer radiating vitality. And those green eyes—they seemed lit from behind, alive in an almost otherworldly way, like a forest animal, or a fairy.
It had to be Rowena. Or at least one of the other Wright sisters, since the blonde was Bree. Brianna, the middle sister.
Yes, this new woman was Rowena—and she was maybe seven months pregnant, her belly the one rounded spot on an otherwise lean, athletic frame.
Tess had done her homework. Most of the stories she’d found had been either archived ones about Johnny Wright’s murder case, in which most papers had been too delicate to print photos of the motherless daughters, or business stories about the opening of Bell River Ranch and its implications for Silverdell’s economy, also short on pictures.
She hadn’t been surprised. Why should women who had been through a public scandal at such a tender age seek publicity?
Still, she knew the basic facts. Rowena was the eldest, and the only one with gypsy-black hair. The youngest was Penelope, and the one picture of her as a child showed a honey-brown fall of hair half-hiding a sweet, timid face.
Rowena was obviously the pack leader. Her air of authority was unmistakable. It showed in her indifference to how she tracked slush into the pristine space, in her willingness to bluster into Serenity Central and never be cowed for a second.
Rowena was living proof that everything Tess had been thinking was true. Tess Spencer, the hard-scrabbling itinerant employee with a chip on her shoulder the size of Colorado, had nothing in common with the poised, ebullient Wright sisters.
“You must be Tess!” Rowena turned the amazing green eyes toward her, and her smile deepened, projecting warmth in spite of the chill that still clung to her gold sweater and cords. “I’m Rowena! I’m so sorry I’m late. Gawd, why do I keep saying that? I couldn’t help it, really I couldn’t. Some meddling fool called the health inspector, and now I’m going to have to dance him around, proving we’re not serving ptomaine every night for dinner.”
“Ro.” Bree pursed her lips, though her eyes had an inner light that hinted at repressed laughter. “You know you’re saying this stuff out loud, right? And everyone can hear you?”
“I can’t hear her,” a male voice called out from behind the reception area. “And I’m not planning a lawsuit as we speak.”
Rowena and Brianna burst into laughter. “You’d better not be, Jude,” Rowena said merrily, raising her voice a little to be sure the invisible man could hear her. “What would be the point? You know firsthand how broke we are. In fact, if you get paid this week, you’ll be lucky!”
“Ro.” Bree shook her head, giving the starchy client a meaningful glance. “Again. You said that out loud.”
Ro gave the woman a look of her own. “Oh, we don’t have any secrets at Bell River. Silverdell’s too small a town for secrets, isn’t it, Mrs. Fillmore?”
Tess raised her eyebrows. Again, the subtext of irony. These two didn’t like Mrs. Fillmore one bit. She wondered if the feeling was mutual, but the scowl on Mrs. Fillmore’s face was too firmly entrenched to be sure it meant anything.
“Indeed,” the woman said, pinching her nose with a sniff. “Too small, and sadly too addicted