CHAPTER 12
Adam caught up to her just as Kirby started to slam her bedroom door. Shoving it open, he pushed his way inside. For a moment, they only stared at each other.
“Kirby, let me explain.”
“No.” The wounded look had been replaced by glacial anger. “Just get out. All the way out, Adam—of my house and my life.”
“I can’t.” He took her by the shoulders, but her head snapped up, and the look was so cold, so hard, he dropped his hands again. It was too late to explain the way he’d planned. Too late to prevent the hurt. Now he had to find the way around it. “Kirby, I know what you must be thinking. I want—”
“Do you?” It took all of her effort to keep her voice from rising. Instead it was cool and calm. “I’m going to tell you anyway so we can leave everything neat and tidy.” She faced him because she refused to turn her back on the pain or on the betrayal. “I’m thinking that I’ve never detested anyone more than I detest you at this moment. I’m thinking Stuart and Melanie could take lessons on using people from you. I’m thinking how naive I was, how stupid, to have believed there was something special about you, something stable and honest. And I wonder how I could’ve made love with you and never seen it. Then again, I didn’t see it in Melanie, either. I loved and trusted her.” Tears burned behind her eyes but she ignored them. “I loved and trusted you.”
“Kirby…”
“Don’t touch me.” She backed away, but it was the tremor in her voice, not the movement, that stopped him from going to her. “I don’t ever want to feel your hands on me again.” Because she wanted to weep, she laughed, and the sound was as sharp as a knife. “I’ve always admired a really good liar, Adam, but you’re the best. Every time you touched me, you lied. You prostituted yourself in that bed.” She gestured toward it and wanted to scream. She wanted to fling herself on it and weep until she was empty. She stood, straight as an arrow. “You lay beside me and said all the things I wanted to hear. Do you get extra points for that, Adam? Surely that was above and beyond the call of duty.”
“Don’t.” He’d had enough. Enough of her cold, clear look, her cold, clear words. “You know there was no dishonesty there. What happened between us had nothing to do with the rest.”
“It has everything to do with it.”
“No.” He’d take everything else she could fling at him, but not that. She’d changed his life with hardly more than a look. She had to know it. “I should never have put my hands on you, but I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted you. I needed you. You have to believe that.”
“I’ll tell you what I believe,” she said quietly, because every word he spoke was another slice into her heart. She’d finished with being used. “You came here for the Rembrandt, and you meant to find it no matter who or what you had to go through. My father and I were means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less.”
He had to take it, had to let her say it, but there’d be no lies between them any longer. “I came for the Rembrandt. When I walked through the door I only had one priority, to find it. But I didn’t know you when I walked through the door. I wasn’t in love with you then.”
“Is this the part where you say everything changed?” she demanded, falling back on fury. “Shall we wait for the violins?” She was weakening. She turned away and leaned on the post of the bed. “Do better, Adam.”
She could be cruel. He remembered her father’s warning. He only wished he believed he had a defense. “I can’t do better than the truth.”
“Truth? What the hell do you know about truth?” She whirled back around, eyes damp now and shimmering with heat. “I stood here in this room and told you everything, everything I knew about my father. I trusted you with his welfare, the most important thing in my life. Where was your truth then?”
“I had a commitment. Do you think it was easy for me to sit here and listen, knowing I couldn’t give you what you were giving me?”
“Yes.” Her tone was dead calm, but her eyes were fierce. “Yes, I think it was a matter of routine for you. If you’d told me that night, the next day or the next, I might’ve believed you. If I’d heard it from you, I might’ve forgiven you.”
Timing. Hadn’t she told him how vital timing could be? Now he felt her slipping away from him, but he had nothing but excuses to give her. “I was going to tell you everything, start to finish, tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Slowly she nodded. “Tomorrows are very convenient. A pity for us all how rarely they come.”
All the warmth, all the fire, that had drawn him to her was gone. He’d only seen this look on her face once before—when Stuart had backed her into a corner and she’d had no escape. Stuart had used physical dominance, but it was no prettier than the emotional pressure Adam knew he used. “I’m sorry, Kirby. If I’d taken the risk and told you this morning, it would’ve been different for all of us.”
“I don’t want your apology!” The tears beat her and poured out. She’d sacrificed everything else, now her pride was gone, as well. “I thought I’d found the man I could share my life with. I fell in love with you in the flash of an instant. No questions, no doubts. I believed everything you said to me. I gave you everything I had. In all my life no one’s been allowed to know me as you did. I entrusted you with everything I am and you used me.” Turning, she pressed her face into the bedpost.
He had, he couldn’t deny it even to himself. He’d used her, as Stuart had used her. As Melanie had used her. Loving her made no difference, yet he had to hope it made all the difference. “Kirby.” It took all the strength he had not to go to her, to comfort her, but he’d only be comforting himself if he put his arms around her now. “There’s nothing you can say to me I haven’t said to myself. I came here to do a job, but I fell in love with you. There wasn’t any warning for me, either. I know I’ve hurt you. There’s nothing I can do to turn back the clock.”
“Do you expect me to fall into your arms? Do you expect me to say nothing else matters but us?” She turned, and though her cheeks were still damp, her eyes were dry. “It all matters,” she said flatly. “Your job’s finished here, Adam. You’ve recovered your Rembrandt. Take it, you earned it.”
“You’re not going to cut me out of your life.”
“You’ve done that for me.”
“No.” The fury and frustration took over so that he grabbed her arm and jerked her against him. “No, you’ll have to adjust to the way things are, because I’m coming back.” He ran his hands down her hair, and they weren’t steady. “You can make me suffer. By God, you can do it. I’ll give you that, Kirby, but I’ll be back.”
Before his anger could push him too far, he whirled around and left her alone.
Fairchild was waiting for him, sitting calmly in the parlor by the fire. “I thought you’d need this.” Without getting up, he gestured to the glass of Scotch on the table beside him. He waited until Adam had tossed it back. He didn’t need to be told what had passed between them. “I’m sorry. She’s hurt. Perhaps in time the wounds will close and she’ll be able to listen.”
Adam’s knuckles whitened on the glass. “That’s what I told her, but I didn’t believe it. I betrayed her.” His glance lowered and settled on the older man. “And you.”
“You did what you had to do. You had a part to play.” Fairchild spread his hands on his knees and stared at them, thinking of his own part. “She would’ve dealt with it, Adam. She’s strong enough. But even Kirby has a breaking point. Melanie… It was too soon after Melanie.”
“She won’t let me comfort her.” It was that anguish that had him turning to stare out of the window. “She looks so wounded, and my being here only makes it harder for her.” Steadying himself, he stared out at nothing. “I’ll be out as soon as I can pack.” He turned, his head only, and looked at the small, balding man in front of the fire. “I love her, Philip.”
In silence Fairchild watched Adam walk away. For the first time in his six decades he felt old. Old and tired. With a deep, deep sigh he rose and went to his daughter.
He found her curled on her bed, her head cradled by her knees and arms. She sat silent and unmoving and, he knew, utterly, utterly beaten. When he sat beside her, her head jerked up. Slowly, with his hand stroking her hair, her muscles relaxed.
“Do we ever stop making fools of ourselves, Papa?”
“You’ve never been a fool.”
“Oh, yes, yes, it seems I have.” Settling her chin on her knees, she stared straight ahead. “I lost our bet. I guess you’ll be breaking open that box of cigars you’ve been saving.”
“I think we can consider the extenuating circumstances.”
“How generous of you.” She tried to smile and failed. “Aren’t you going to the hospital to be with Harriet?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You’d better go then. She needs you.”
His thin, bony hand continued to stroke her hair. “Don’t you?”
“Oh, Papa.” Tears came in a flood as she turned into his arms.
* * *
Kirby followed Cards downstairs as he carried her bags. In the week since the discovery of the Rembrandt she’d found it impossible to settle. She found no comfort in her art, no comfort in her home. Everything here held memories she could no longer deal with. She slept little and ate less. She knew she was losing touch with the person she was, and so she’d made plans to force herself back.
She opened the door for Cards and stared out at the bright, cheery morning. It made her want to weep.
“I don’t know why a sensible person would get up at this ridiculous hour to drive to the wilderness.”
Kirby forced back the gloom and turned to watch her father stride down the stairs in a ratty bathrobe and bare feet. What hair he had left was standing on end. “The early bird gathers no moss,” she told him. “I want to get to the lodge and settle in. Want some coffee?”
“Not while I’m sleeping,” he muttered as she nuzzled his cheek. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, going off to that shack in the Himalayas.”
“It’s Harriet’s very comfortable cabin in the Adirondacks, twenty miles from Lake Placid.”
“Don’t nitpick. You’ll be alone.”
“I’ve been alone before,” she reminded him. “You’re annoyed because you won’t have anyone but Cards to shout at for a few weeks.”
“He never shouts back.” But even as he grumbled, Fairchild was studying Kirby’s face. The shadows were still under her eyes and the loss of weight was much too apparent. “Tulip should go with you. Someone has to make you eat.”
“I’m going to do that. Mountain air should make me ravenous.” When he continued to frown at her, she touched his cheek. “Don’t worry, Papa.”
“I am worried.” Taking her shoulders, he held her at arm’s length. “For the first time in your life, you’re causing me genuine concern.”
“A few pounds, Papa.”
“Kirby.” He cupped her face in his strong, thin hand. “You have to talk to Adam.”
“No!” The word came out violently. With an effort, she drew a steadying breath. “I’ve said all I want to say to Adam. I need time and some solitude, that’s all.”
“Running away, Kirby?”
“As fast as I can. Papa, Rick proposed to me again before he left.”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” he demanded. “He always proposes to you before he leaves.”
“I nearly said yes.” She lifted her hands to his, willing him to understand. “I nearly said yes because it seemed an easy way out. I’d have ruined his life.”
“What about yours?”
“I have to glue the pieces back together. Papa, I’ll be fine. It’s Harriet who needs you now.”
He thought of his friend, his oldest and closest friend. He thought of the grief. “Melanie’s going to Europe when she’s fully recovered.”
“I know.” Kirby tried not to remember the gun, or the hate. “Harriet told me. She’ll need both of us when Melly’s gone. If I can’t help myself, how can I help Harriet?”
“Melanie won’t see Harriet. The girl’s destroying herself with hate.” He looked at his own daughter, his pride, his treasure. “The sooner Melanie’s out of the hospital and thousands of miles away, the better it’ll be for everyone.”
She knew what he’d done, how he’d fought against his feelings about Melanie to keep from causing either her or Harriet more grief. He’d comforted them both without releasing his own fury. She held him tightly a moment, saying nothing. Needing to say nothing.
“We all need some time,” she murmured. When she drew away, she was smiling. She wouldn’t leave him with tears in her eyes. “I’ll cloister myself in the wilderness and sculpt while you pound on your hawk.”
“Such a wicked tongue in such a pretty face.”
“Papa…” Absently she checked the contents of her purse. “Whatever painting you do will be done under your own name?” When he didn’t answer, she glanced up, narrowing her eyes. “Papa?”
“All my paintings will be Fairchilds. Haven’t I given you my word?” He sniffed and looked injured. Kirby began to feel alarmed.
“This obsession with sculpting,” she began, eyeing him carefully. “You don’t have it in your head to attempt an emulation of a Rodin or Cellini?”
“You ask too many questions,” he complained as he nudged her toward the door. “The day’s wasting away, better get started. Don’t forget to write.”
Kirby paused on the porch and turned back to him. “It’ll take you years,” she decided. “If you ever acquire the talent. Go ahead and play with your hawk.” She kissed his forehead. “I love you, Papa.”
He watched her dart down the steps and into her car. “One should never interfere in the life of one’s child,” he murmured. Smiling broadly, he waved goodbye. When she was out of sight, he went directly to the phone.
* * *
The forest had always appealed to her. In mid-autumn, it shouted with life. The burst of colors were a last swirling fling before the trees went into the final cycle. It was an order Kirby accepted—birth, growth, decay, rebirth. Still, after three days alone, she hadn’t found her serenity.
The stream she walked past rushed and hissed. The air was brisk and tangy. She was miserable.
She’d nearly come to terms with her feelings about Melanie. Her childhood friend was ill, had been ill for a long, long time and might never fully recover. It hadn’t been a betrayal any more than cancer was a betrayal. But it was a malignancy Kirby knew she had to cut out of her life. She’d nearly accepted it, for Melanie’s sake and her own.
She could come to terms with Melanie, but she had yet to deal with Adam. He’d had no illness, nor a lifetime of resentments to feed it. He’d simply had a job to do. And that was too cold for her to accept.
With her hands in her pockets, she sat down on a log and scowled into the water. Her life, she admitted, was a mess. She was a mess. And she was damn sick of it.
She tried to tell herself she’d put Adam out of her life. She hadn’t. Yes, she’d refused to listen to him. She’d made no attempt to contact him. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough, Kirby decided, because it left things unfinished. Now she’d never know if he’d had any real feelings for her. She’d never know if, even briefly, he’d belonged to her.
Perhaps it was best that way.
Standing, she began to walk again, scuffing the leaves that danced around her feet. She was tired of herself. Another first. It wasn’t going to go on, she determined. Whatever the cost, she was going to whip Kirby Fairchild back into shape. Starting now. At a brisk pace, she started back to the cabin.
She liked the way it looked, set deep in the trees by itself. The roof was pitched high and the glass sparkled. Today, she thought as she went in through the back door, she’d work. After she’d worked, she’d eat until she couldn’t move.
Peeling off her coat as she went, she walked directly to the worktable she’d set up in the corner of the living room. Without looking around, she tossed the coat aside and looked at her equipment. She hadn’t touched it in days. Now she sat and picked up a formless piece of wood. This was to be her Passion. Perhaps now more than ever, she needed to put that emotion into form.
There was silence as she explored the feel and life of the wood in her hands. She thought of Adam, of the nights, the touches, the tastes. It hurt. Passion could. Using it, she began to work.
* * *
An hour slipped by. She only noticed when her fingers cramped. With a sigh, she set the wood down and stretched them. The healing had begun. She could be certain of it now. “A start,” she murmured to herself. “It’s a start.”
“It’s Passion. I can already see it.”
The knife slipped out of her hand and clattered on the table as she whirled. Across the room, calmly sitting in a faded wingback chair, was Adam. She’d nearly sprung out of the chair to go to him before she stopped herself. He looked the same, just the same. But nothing was. That she had to remember.
“How did you get in here?”
He heard the ice in her voice. But he’d seen her eyes. In that one instant, she’d told him everything he’d ached for. Still, he knew she couldn’t be rushed. “The front door wasn’t locked.” He rose and crossed to her. “I came inside to wait for you, but when you came in, you looked so intense; then you started right in. I didn’t want to disturb your work.” When she said nothing, he picked up the wood and turned it over in his hand. He thought it smoldered. “Amazing,” he murmured. “Amazing what power you have.” Just holding it made him want her more, made him want what she’d put into the wood. Carefully he set it down again, but his eyes were just as intense when he studied her. “What the hell’ve you been doing? Starving yourself?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She stood and walked away from him, but she didn’t know where to go.
“Am I to blame for that, too?”
His voice was quiet, serious. She’d never be able to resist that tone. Gathering her strength, she turned back to him. “Did Tulip send you to check up on me?”
She was too thin. Damn it. Had the pounds melted off her? She was so small. How could she be so small and look so arrogant? He wanted to go to her. Beg. He was nearly certain she’d listen now. Yet she wouldn’t want it that way. Instead, he tucked his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “This is a cozy little place. I wandered around a bit while you were out.”
“Glad you made yourself at home.”
“It’s everything Harriet said it would be.” He looked at her again and smiled. “Isolated, cozy, charming.”
She lifted a brow. It was easiest with the distance between them. “You’ve spoken to Harriet?”
“I took your portrait to the gallery.”
Emotion came and went again in her eyes. Picking up a small brass pelican, she caressed it absently. “My portrait?”
“I promised her she could exhibit it when I’d finished.” He watched her nervous fingers run over the brass. “It wasn’t difficult to finish without you. I saw you everywhere I looked.”
Quickly she turned to walk to the front wall. It was all glass, open to the woods. No one could feel trapped with that view. Kirby clung to it. “Harriet’s having a difficult time.”
“The strain shows a bit.” In her, he thought, and in you. “I think it’s better for her that Melanie won’t see her at this point. With Stuart out of the way, the gallery’s keeping Harriet busy.” He stared at her back, trying to imagine what expression he’d find on her face. “Why aren’t you pressing charges, Kirby?”
“For what purpose?” she countered. She set the piece of brass down. A crutch was a crutch, and she was through with them. “Both Stuart and Melanie are disgraced, banished from the elite that means so much to them. The publicity’s been horrid. They have no money, no reputation. Isn’t that punishment enough?”
“Melanie tried to kill you. Twice.” Suddenly furious at the calm, even tone, he went to her and spun her around. “Damn it, Kirby, she wanted you dead!”
“It was she who nearly died.” Her voice was still even, but she took a step back, from him. “The police have to accept my story that the gun went off accidentally, even if others don’t. I could have sent Melly to jail. Wouldn’t I feel avenged watching Harriet suffer?”
Adam forced back the impatience and stared through the glass. “She’s worried about you.”
“Harriet?” Kirby shrugged. “There’s no need. When you see her, tell her I’m well.”
“You can tell her yourself when we get back.”
“We?” The lightest hint of temper entered her voice. Nothing could have relieved him more. “I’m going to be here for some time yet.”
“Fine. I’ve nothing better to do.”
“That wasn’t an invitation.”
“Harriet already gave me one,” he told her easily. He gave the room another sweeping glance while Kirby smoldered. “The place looks big enough for two.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, but don’t let me spoil your plans.” She spun on her heel and headed for the stairs. Before she’d gotten five feet, his fingers curled around her arm and held her still. When she whirled, he saw that his gypsy was back.
“You don’t really think I’d let you leave? Kirby, you disappoint me.”
“You don’t let me do anything, Adam. Nor do you prevent me from doing anything.”
“Only when it’s necessary.” While she stood rigid, he put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re going to listen to me this time. And you’re going to start listening in just a minute.”
He pressed his mouth to hers as he’d needed to for weeks. She didn’t resist. Nor did she respond. He could feel her fighting the need to do both. He could press her, he knew, and she’d give in to him. Then he might never really have her. Slowly their gazes locked; he straightened.
“You’re nearly through making me suffer,” he murmured. “I’ve paid, Kirby, in every moment I haven’t been with you. Through every night you haven’t been beside me. When are you going to stop punishing me?”
“I don’t want to punish you.” It was true. She’d already forgiven him. Yet, her confidence, that strong, thin shield she’d always had, had suffered an enormous blow. This time when she stepped back he didn’t try to stop her. “I know we parted badly. Maybe it’d be best if we just admitted we’d both made a mistake and left it at that. I realize you did what you had to do. I’ve always done the same. It’s time I got on with my life and you with yours.”
He felt a quick jiggle of panic. She was too calm, much too calm. He wanted emotion from her, any kind she’d give. “What sort of life would either of us have without the other?”
None. But she shook her head. “I said we made a mistake—”
“And now you’re going to tell me you don’t love me?”
She looked straight at him and opened her mouth. Weakening, she shifted her gaze to just over his shoulder. “No, I don’t love you, Adam. I’m sorry.”
She’d nearly cut him off at the knees. If she hadn’t looked away at the last instant, it would’ve been over for him. “I’d’ve thought you could lie better than that.” In one move he closed the distance between them. His arms were around her, firm, secure. The same, she thought. Nothing had changed after all. “I’ve given you two weeks, Kirby. Maybe I should give you more time, but I can’t.” He buried his face in her hair while she squeezed her eyes shut. She’d been wrong, she remembered. She’d been wrong about so many things. Could this be right?
“Adam, please…”
“No, no more. I love you.” He drew away, barely resisting the need to shake her. “I love you and you’ll have to get used to it. It isn’t going to change.”
She curled her hand into a fist before she could stroke his cheek. “I think you’re getting pompous again.”
“Then you’ll have to get used to that, too. Kirby…” He framed her face with his hands. “How many ways would you like me to apologize?”
“No.” Shaking her head she moved away again. She should be able to think, she warned herself. She had to think. “I don’t need apologies, Adam.”
“You wouldn’t,” he murmured. Forgiveness would come as easily to her as every other emotion. “Your father and I had a long talk before I drove up here.”
“Did you?” She gave her attention to a bowl of dried flowers. “How nice.”
“He’s given me his word he’ll no longer…emulate paintings.”
With her back to him, she smiled. The pain vanished without her realizing it, and with it, the doubts. They loved. There was so little else in life. Still smiling, Kirby decided she wouldn’t tell Adam of her father’s ambition with sculpting. Not just yet. “I’m glad you convinced him,” she said with her tongue in her cheek.
“He decided to concede the point to me, since I’m going to be a member of the family.”
With a flutter of her lashes, she turned. “How lovely. Is Papa adopting you?”
“That wasn’t precisely the relationship we discussed.” Crossing to her, he took her into his arms again. This time he felt the give and the strength. “Tell me again that you don’t love me.”
“I don’t love you,” she murmured, and pulled his mouth to hers. “I don’t want you to hold me.” Her arms wound around his neck. “I don’t want you to kiss me again. Now.” Her lips clung to his, opening, giving. As the heat built, he groaned and drew her in.
“Obstinate, aren’t you?” he muttered.
“Invariably.”
“But are you going to marry me?”
“On my terms.”
When her head tilted back, he ran kisses up the length of her throat. “Which are?”
“I may come easy, but I don’t come free.”
“What do you want, a marriage settlement?” On a half laugh, he drew away. She was his, whoever, whatever she was. He’d never let her go again. “Can’t you think of anything but money?”
“I’m fond of money—and we still have to discuss my sitting fee. However…” She drew a deep breath. “My terms for marriage are four children.”
“Four?” Even knowing Kirby, he’d been caught off guard. “Four children?”
She moistened her lips but her voice was strong. “I’m firm on that number, Adam. The point’s non-negotiable.” Then her eyes were young and full of needs. “I want children. Your children.”
Every time he thought he loved her completely, he found he could love her more. Still more. “Four,” he repeated with a slow nod. “Any preference to gender?”
The breath she’d been holding came out on a laugh. No, she hadn’t been wrong. They loved. There was very little else. “I’m flexible, though a mix of some sort would be nice.” She tossed her head back and smiled up at him. “What do you think?”
He swept her into his arms then headed for the stairs. “I think we’d better get started.”
* * * * *