Chapter 2
The car Ashleigh Welsley had hired to take her from JFK to Southampton dropped her outside the main entrance of the hospital. She heard it drive away, while she stood there for a moment in silence. She'd sworn never to come home again. And for fourteen years, she'd kept the promise she'd made in anger. For fourteen long years. But now her father needed her. He'd never been the problem. But coming to see him meant she also had to see her mother. And her mother had been the problem.
She was the reason why Ashleigh had asked the driver to take her straight to the hospital, bypassing her childhood home. The longer she could avoid her mother, the better. With a heavy sigh, she walked into the hospital's foyer. At the information desk, she inquired about her father's room number and then hurried toward the elevators.
Her mother had called the previous day, but Ashleigh hadn't picked up the phone. The voice message had told her very little, only that her father had had a stroke, and that it would be best if she came. No word about his condition, or the doctor's prognosis. As if her mother withheld information to force her to make the five-and-a-half-hour flight from Los Angeles to New York, followed by a two-and-a-half-hour drive to the Hamptons. Her mother finally held a bargaining chip in her hand, with which to manipulate Ashleigh once more: her father's health.
When she reached her father's floor, Ashleigh paused outside the open doorway and listened to the silence and soft hum of the monitors for a long moment. No sound of her mother's voice. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and walked into the room.
Her father lay motionless in the bed, a breathing tube in his mouth. Lots of wires and tubes were hooked to his chest and arm. Ashleigh stopped in her tracks, the sight of him sending a chill through her veins. He looked so small. So frail. She bit back a cry. Slowly, she approached the bed and grabbed his hand. "I'm here, Daddy. I've come home. I'm so sorry it's taken me so long." His hand felt so weak, so cold.
She rubbed it, trying to warm the skin, and wished her voice alone could wake him, but it didn't. Not even a flutter of an eyelash. Nothing moved except the small colored lines on the monitor that indicated his heartbeat and his blood pressure.
Her eyes stung with tears, but she held them back. Her dad had always told her to stay strong, keep her chin up and her back straight, and that was what she would do now. She would be strong for him. And he would be okay, she told herself. He had to be.
"Ashleigh, when did you get here?" The nasal voice coming from the door cut through the air and seemed to suck all oxygen out of the room. Her mother had that effect on her surroundings. On her.
Ashleigh didn't turn, didn't respond, though her shoulders stiffened instinctively, as if preparing for a fight. A fight that would undoubtedly come. Sooner or later. All she wished for was a few more minutes alone with her father. But it seemed even that was too much to ask.
"Mother," Ashleigh finally said, her voice remaining cold and unfeeling as she turned her head a few inches to acknowledge the woman who'd given birth to her.
"Well, I guess you got my message. You should have come by the house first. Gladys prepared your old room for you just in case."
Ashleigh's practiced smile fell into place as she fully turned to her mother. "Be sure to thank her for me. I was anxious to see Daddy, so I came directly here."
Her mother's sharp eyes narrowed for a brief second. "Yes, well, I'm sure once he wakes, he'll be thrilled to see you."
"When will that be?"
"Pardon?"
"When will he wake?"
"That's a question for the doctors. They don't know why he hasn't woken yet."
Maybe because he doesn't want to face you. Ashleigh wisely kept the bitter thought to herself. "So when will the doctor be here?"
"Not till tomorrow morning, but he believes your father will be just fine once he wakes."
"Once he wakes?" Ashleigh repeated. It didn't sound very specific. What if he never woke?
"I saw the trailer for your latest movie. Everyone is talking about it down at the club." A bystander could have mistaken her mother's comment for a compliment, but Ashleigh knew that it wasn't. It was pure and utter disapproval. Condemnation. Even embarrassment. Yes, she was embarrassing her mother with her work. Embarrassing her in front of her friends at the country club.
"Are you dating that young man in the film with you? You're so very… intimate."
Ashleigh blew out a soft sigh. "It's called acting, Mother. I'm an actress. We're pretending to like each other."
"Oh." Ashleigh's mother walked around the other side of the bed and fussed with her husband's covers. "Well, I'm glad you're home. It's been too long."
Ashleigh looked at her. Olive branch?
"How long are you planning to stay?" her mother suddenly asked.
Ashleigh shrugged. "Until Daddy is better."
"Well, I'm glad. You should have come home a long time ago. It's not good when you abandon your family like you did."
No, definitely not an olive branch.
"And whose fault is that?"
Her mother huffed. "You can't possibly still blame me for what happened. I was only providing an incentive. I didn't force it upon anybody. He didn't have to accept it."
She didn't have to mention any names. "Yes, that's what you do with your money, don't you? Provide incentives." Ashleigh almost spat the last word.
Her mother's gaze hardened. "Fine. Be like that. You've always had your own head. Stubborn, just like your father."
Ashleigh stared down at her father. She was glad she'd inherited his attributes and not her mother's. "Yes, just like my father."
Her mother blew out a breath. "Well, I think he's had enough excitement for one day, don't you? It's getting late."
"Yes, I can see how much our visit must be tiring him." Ashleigh walked to the door.
"I have the car downstairs. You can drive with me, unless you rented a car at the airport," her mother said.
The thought of spending twenty minutes in the confines of a closed vehicle with her mother nearly made Ashleigh hyperventilate. She couldn't do this. "I have some errands to run. I'll meet you at the house later."
"But—"
"Later, Mother," she said, this time a little firmer, making sure her mother understood that she wasn't going to change her mind.
"Fine." Her mother breezed past her and disappeared down the corridor.
Ashleigh stopped by the bathroom in the hospital's lobby, rinsed her face with cold water, and tried to shake off the deluge of emotions raining down on her. First thing in the morning, she would come back and talk to the doctor and find out for herself exactly what her father's condition was. She needed to know firsthand what the prognosis was. She couldn't trust her mother to tell her the full truth.
Looking in the mirror, she pulled her long red hair into a ponytail and slipped a nondescript baseball cap on her head, threading the tail through the little hole in the back of the cap. She opened her contact case, popped out her contacts, and slipped on dark-rimmed prescription glasses. It wasn't much of a disguise, but hopefully it would be enough to ensure nobody recognized her. She just needed a few hours to herself. To think. To reflect. To breathe.
Outside the hospital, she looked around. She'd sent the car to drop her luggage at her parents' house and then return to New York. Later, she would hire a cab to take her to her childhood home. In the meantime, she wanted some time to herself. Her eyes spotted a familiar neon sign. A bar on the next block. Perfect. Just what she needed. A dingy dive only the locals frequented, locals who probably had never heard of Leigh West. No better place to hide.
She walked quickly down the street to Dunes. The parking lot was only half full. If she was lucky, it would be busy enough that she'd be able to slip in and grab a drink and a bite to eat without anyone noticing her. As she stepped into the bar, she paused when a loud woman started whooping and hollering. Scanning the room, Ashleigh immediately saw a table full of brightly colored presents, pitchers full of beer, and a group of very loud women. Apparently, there was some kind of bridal shower going on, and the commotion had nothing to do with her. Even better, they were noisy enough to draw everyone's attention toward the back of the room.
Relieved, she walked past the "seat yourself" sign and slid into an empty booth in the far corner of the bar, away from the rowdy women.
Ashleigh had picked up one of the menus that lay on the table and began to study it when a shadow fell over her. She lifted her head and saw the waitress hover over her, pen poised over her pad.
"What can I get you, hon?"
Ashleigh pointed at a spot on the menu. "I'll take the bacon burger with sweet potato fries and a large—"
"Sweet Jesus!" the waitress interrupted. "Leigh West?" She squealed loudly. "Is that really you?" She looked like she was on the verge of jumping up and down.
Ashleigh lifted the menu and used it to shield her face from the other tables, while she turned a pleading look at the waitress. "Please, I'm just here for a quick bite. I don't want anybody to know—"
But it was too late.
The women from the bridal shower, gaping and wide-eyed, were already rushing toward Ashleigh's booth, grabbing their cell phones. They crowded around the booth, squealing like little children, their voices and laughter high-pitched, their cameras taking picture after picture. There was no escape.
"It's really you!" one woman cried. "We were just watching you on the television. Leigh West! I have to get a selfie with you!" She slid into the booth and put her arm around Ashleigh as if they were best friends, while the other women took pictures.
Their excitement attracted other patrons in the bar, and more and more people surrounded the small booth. Suddenly she was bombarded with questions.
"Are you shooting a movie in town?"
"Is it true that you and Santiago Mendez are an item?"
"Oh, tell us, please! Tell us you and Santiago are a couple!"
"What's your next movie?"
She had no chance to answer even a single one of the questions that came as if fired from a cannon. And she didn't want to. All she'd wanted was a quiet meal, a few minutes to think and be alone before facing her mother once more. For the first time in her life, she hated being famous, when all her life, she'd worked for exactly this: to be recognized, to be adored, just so something could fill her empty heart and replace what she'd lost long ago.
She tried to get up, pushing past one of the women, escape the only thing she could think of, but somebody gripped her forearm. She whirled around, trying to rip free, and her eyes fell on the man who'd snatched her arm.
Seeing him was like a sucker punch to her gut. He was as heart-stopping gorgeous as ever. Dark, tousled hair that looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, long enough to drill her fingers through, and thick enough to make any woman jealous. His hand clutching her arm was just as she remembered, when she'd let herself remember—large, rough, strong. Her skin shivered as tingles raced up spine. The way his calluses rasped and scraped sent fire licking at her insides.
Her mouth went dry.
His dark eyes locked on hers. Her insides flipped and stuttered, reminding her of the schoolgirl she wanted to forget even more than she wanted to forget him.
"Hunter," she murmured.