Poker Face Page 8

  Last, but not by no means least, they had to be incredibly patient and giving.

  He barely glanced up as Lillian entered the kitchen her light steps taking her directly to the coffee pot. He heard the trickle as she poured, then she was settled in the seat across from him.

  “It seems I have misjudged your daughter. Robbie was a poor choice, I’ll openly admit it, a mistake on my part. If you’ll take a few minutes to look at this list I’ve composed, together, you and I can come up with a suitable man more likely to fit Megan’s taste.”

  It was hard to concentrate with her disapproving gaze upon him. He shifted nervously in his seat and met her distant cool blue eyes. How the woman could voodoo him so easily was still a mystery, he wondered if it was pure magic or divine intervention. She had saved him from a life of solitude.

  “You’re serious? You expect me to help you with this stupid bet you’ve involved my daughter in? Who are you, and what have you done with the man I fell in love with?” The night had not soothed her anger any, she was still just as pissed as yesterday when she’d put his nuts in a vise like grip. “Is it safe to assume you still plan to carry on with this nonsense?” Her tone made him shrink—yes ma’am. He did nothing more than blink. “Alright, you’ve been warned. You’re headed down a dangerous, dark road….”

  “I can’t back out of the bet now. It’s not what I do, conceding. Regardless, Mackenzie would never allow it. I suspect if he wins, he has every intention of handing the ranch over to that spoiled son of his on a silver platter.

  Her arms come up in exasperation, “So what! You hate that ranch. Let the boy have it.”

  “No. It’s the principal behind it, there doesn’t need to be another Mackenzie who has things dropped miraculously in his lap.”

  “You might as well get used to it. Ranch, or no ranch, you can’t stop Jonathan’s son from inheriting what belongs to his father.”

  Jonathan. How lovely his wife was on a first name basis with the scoundrel. “What all did you do with him?” He found himself blurting out. Nine years he’d been dying to ask that single question. It gnawed at him, though he’d hid it well. Pride, self-loathing for his insanely jealous tendency’s, afraid of what knowing the truth would do to his ever growing suspicious side—all these things had kept him from asking.

  “Who?” she blinked.

  “Mackenzie.”

  “Father or son?”

  He shook his head in frustration.

  “We went to the opera and out to fancy restaurants. Sometimes we cooked and stayed in,” Her sarcasm caused acid to swirl in his gut. Everything around him was slowly falling apart, like a battered beach surrendering to the rising sea. People drive loved ones away with constant insane accusations. He knew it, but heavens above he could not stop the thoughts that ran through his head in a given day. Thoughts of his perfect wife, and the “things” she had done before she’d met him.

  He suspected he would have felt the same jealously toward her first husband if the man wasn’t dead.

  Paul’s jaw tightened. The years had only managed to make her more beautiful, a curse, on every man that ever came in contact with her, especially him. “Don’t play coy, you know what I mean.”

  Her coffee cup clattered as she set it down harder than necessary on the table top, a brow arching. “What do you think we did, Paul?”

  “Did you have sex with him?”

  “Yes.”

  There it was—the truth he’d feared all these years. Some insane need stirred his insides, need to yell, need to make her feel ashamed, need to strike her. No. Paul had never hit a woman in his life. That bastard Mackenzie was laughing behind his back, for once in his life the man had not bragged over one of his many conquests. His wife, the most giving loving person he’d known had given herself freely to that son-of-a-bitch! That little detail had been left off the table. How many times? No, he didn’t need to know. “Why? Why would you do that when you barely knew him? ”

  “My husband died, I had a small child who asked every day when her father was coming back. Mackenzie made me forget all that.”

  “Do you ever think about him?”

  Lillian’s blue eyes narrowed. “Is that what this bet is about? You think I still want him. Will this silly competition between you two ever stop? I. am. with. you! You have obtained a small fortune, but it’s never enough, I’m not enough.” she stood, palms splayed on the table top as she leaned in, her face only inches from his, her expression grim, full of hurt and pain. “If you’ll remember correctly, I ended it with him long before you ever came along. If I had known he was your friend and soon to be business partner, I would have never accepted your invitation to dinner, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “Why did you… end it?”

  “Because, I didn’t like his lack of integrity,” she hissed.

  Integrity, the word jarred him like a blow to the jaw. “Obviously, you’ve given Mackenzie some thought.”

  “Yes. In the last few days, I’ve given him a considerable amount of thought… thanks to you. ”

  Day Six

  The smell of bacon tempted the eleven year old out of his bed. Clumps of dark hair rose wild on his head as he made his way to his walk-in closet, pulled on black gym shorts over his boxers, and tugged a white cotton T-shirt over his head. Sunlight filled his room with warmth as he tiptoed barefoot over polished cherry hardwood floors, and cracked open his bedroom door, just a fraction, ever so gently, prepared to snap it shut if he needed to.

  The bacon odor assaulted him full force. How long had it been since he’d eaten anything? His brows came together in thought. A day? No, he’d had cold cereal in his room last night, he’d almost forgotten.

  With cautious brown eyes he peered out into the long hallway, listened hard for the sound of his father’s bed creaking, moans or giggles of any kind to alarm him it wasn’t safe yet to venture out of his room.

  Nothing. All the boy heard was the pop and sizzle of bacon and pans clanging.

  His mother used to cook breakfast, every morning. Pancakes heaped and dripping with sticky syrup. Omelets with cheddar cheese and ham. Cinnamon toast. Maybe she was back! He felt a sudden jolt of overwhelming happiness that made him want to sprint into the kitchen, wrap his arms around her, and beg her to take him with her next time. Hope quickly dissipated. No. His father said she was never coming back, and he believed him. Why would she? He’d seen how she had been treated: the violent fights, his father’s endless drinking, and his father’s taste for more than one woman at a time. He knew these things, because he had caught his mother crying more often than he cared to remember. “You didn’t do anything wrong, it’s your father,” she would murmur with a weak smile.

  If that was truly the case, then why hadn’t she taken him with her? One of the many questions he’d like to ask her—if he ever saw her again, which his father had assured him, he would not.

  Again the boy inhaled the bacon adding the familiar odor to all the memories he stored away in an imaginary box where no one could turn them to shit. The boy licked his full lips as his stomach growled pushing him further out into the hallway, to the corner where the kitchen could be seen from a safe distance.

  The woman was thin with beautiful, long hair as richly colored as all the mahogany furniture in their home. She was dressed in one of his father’s white buttoned down dress shirts, collar flipped up, sleeves rolled, and she was wearing a pair of white panties, nothing more. Her hips dipped and swayed in front of their stainless steel stove as she hummed the saddest song he’d ever heard: a spatula in one hand, a glass of red wine in the other.

  The woman turned her gaze on the hallway and froze mid swing. The intense blush that came to her cheeks caused his heart to leap into action, blood pumped fast through his veins. It was the same puzzled look he always saw when one of his father’s guests caught him lurking about. Surprise and confusion. This one’s reaction was immediate as she darted behind the bar to cover her nake
d bottom half. “I’m sorry, I thought I was the only one here.”

  The boy was his philandering father’s best kept secret.

  “It’s okay… I’m used to it,” he said his gaze sweeping the great room and all the mess left over from the party the night before: wine glasses with red lipstick stains, glass ashtrays with cigars snubbed out in them, the smell of puke and sex competing with the cooking food. Sleepily, he went over and started to gather empty liquor bottles from the glass coffee table.

  “How sad,” she muttered, and he knew this one was different. He shrugged a shoulder and the color in her cheeks flared again, “Were you here all night?”

  “Yes.”

  “In your room?”

  “Yes.”

  “By yourself?

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to go get dressed. Why don’t you save the cleaning up for later and I’ll help you. Have a seat and we’ll have breakfast when I get back,” the woman said pointing at the dining room table in the adjacent room.

  He eyed the stack of pancakes and bacon strips waiting on the counter. “Okay.”

  “Okay,” she returned with a smile looking him over once more before scurrying out of the room.

  This was a first, having breakfast with one of his father’s mistress’s. That thought caused him to suddenly feel sorry for the woman. He liked this one, and knew it was only a matter of time, before she, like all the others, was gone.

  The woman came back wearing an emerald green flowing sundress that touched her ankles. She smoothed it over her bottom and sat in the dining room chair across from him. “I see you’ve already put out plates and forks, brought the food in, and remembered the syrup. You’re very efficient for someone so young.”

  “You cooked. It was only right I set the table.”

  The pancakes were amazing. Fluffy. Sweet. Just like his mother used to make them. The bacon was a little too burnt for his taste, but he didn’t complain licking the grease from his fingertips. He felt the woman watching him and paused in between bites to ease her conscience. “You feel guilty….don’t.”

  One of her perfectly shaped brows shot up. “I shouldn’t feel guilty about a young boy catching me in his father’s kitchen in my underwear?”

  He absently took a sip of his milk. “No. I’ve seen worse… believe me, you in your underwear wasn’t that bad.”

  She laughed the sound bringing back memories of his mother. “You are awful mature for your age,” she glanced up at him through long lashes, “probably more mature than your father.”

  He smiled. Oh yes, he liked this one. She was funny.

  “Your disposition reminds me of my daughters though… so grown up and tough, believing you don’t need anybody.”

  “You have a daughter?” that explained a lot: her mothering nature, her concern…. “How old is she?”

  “A few years younger than you I believe,” she said taking a bite of her pancake. Her brows pulled together with concern again. “I really didn’t know you were here… I would have never stayed the night if I had.”

  “I know. Where is your daughter?”

  A blush came to her cheeks, “living with her grandparents for a while. Things have been difficult for us lately. I needed some distance….no that’s not entirely true.” She drew a breath. “I think I’ve been avoiding her.”

  “Why would you avoid your own daughter?” He asked around a mouth full of food. Maybe her answer would help him understand how a mother could just abandon her child.

  She stopped eating and idly skated a piece of pancake through the syrup on her plate with her fork. “You don’t want to hear about my problems.”

  “Yes I do.”

  Their gazes met and held. The woman propped her elbows up on the table, clasped her hands as if she were about to pray. “Okay. Her father died and I really don’t know what to say about that. They were very close. I see how much she’s hurting but she refuses to let me help her. I’m not even sure I know how…”

  “So you gave up?”

  “No! Of course not! I’m… I’m taking a break. Jim had been sick for a while, and now there’s all this tension between Megan and me. It’s all just so…I don’t know… overwhelming”

  “Does your daughter know you’re coming back?”

  “Yes,” her brow creased with uncertainty, “Surely she doesn’t think I’ve abandoned her?”

  A stinging flick to the ear woke Drew. He half-opened his heavy-lidded eyes to see his father frowning down at him. “Son, from where I’m standing it doesn’t look like you’re taking this bet too seriously.”

  “What time is it?” Drew asked as he yawned and stretched coming out of the fog. Shit. His whole body tensed as he remembered he was sleeping on the couch. He looked pathetic—like a put out dog, something his father would never be able to relate to. He focused more intently on his father’s expression, which was plagued with disappointment and shock…maybe even a little humor.

  “What happened? Did she kick you out of your own bed?” he shook his head, tsking.

  No rampage? No scolding? No lectures on how a real man goes about seducing a woman? “What are you up to? Why are you here?”

  “Is that any way to thank your father?”

  “For what?”

  “For finding someone interested in putting in an offer on the ranch. Why the tortured expression? I thought you’d be doing a little happy dance?”

  “I…”

  Mackenzie’s hand came up. “Before you go into all the boohoo’s over your “new family” not having a home….turns out this man is interested in keeping Tink, Birdie and Griffin on after he buys the dump, so all is good in the land of misfit toys…you are free and clear of all obligation,” his mouth twisted into a mischievous grin, “even sleeping with the barracuda, which, just so you know, is every bit as attractive as her mother. I’m not sure I understand your whole hesitation there, but anyways… Ms. Barracuda is in the kitchen reading over the offer as we speak…..”

  Drew hit the hardwood with a loud thump, tangled in a mess of blankets that took the sudden spill with him. He fought his way out, “You’re up to something!” and popped to his feet, tugged on a pair of jeans and looked his father directly in the eye, “Are you forgetting this entire setup is a hoax….a stupid bet? Megan doesn’t own a damn thing, the papers are fake! As soon as I tell her what you and her stepfather have done and why…”

  “She’ll pack and catch the next flight home, forgive her stepfather, because her mother expects it, and never speak to you or I ever again. Now, I’m okay with that outcome, but is that what you really want son? I’d think long and hard before you answer. Don’t forget you’ve been the key player in this whole ordeal. You think she hate’s you now…” Mackenzie nodded at the couch and the cushions knocked cockeyed from Drew’s tossing and turning, “wait until she finds out you’re a real piece of shit ….”

  “She already knows I’m a piece of shit,” Drew uttered.

  “Your inability to convince her otherwise is not my fault, that dear son is yours… along with accepting payment of any kind for sex….I think that kind of puts you in the same category as a whore, which makes you one pretty fucked up individual, not that I’m not proud of you for it..” he whistled through his teeth, “but all your do-gooder-friends might see things a little differently. I have no idea why you care.” His gaze swept the small stuffy den. “I would think you’d be ready to be free and clear of any obligation to this dump. The only attractive thing I’ve seen in the last hundred miles is sitting in the kitchen.”

  Drew leaned in, and smelled the before-breakfast-alcohol on his father’s breath. His words were more of a hiss, anger over somehow being drug back into his father’s sick world. “Some things never change… you always have had a way of twisting things to your advantage, haven’t you?”

  The kitchen door opened and Drew froze at the sight of Megan laughing, not some fake flirty laugh he’d heard her do when she was trying to manipulate
someone into doing what she wanted, but a sincere laugh.

  “I’m so glad you came out,” she said leaning playfully into the man next her.

  The man, or boy, Drew wasn’t sure which he wanted to use to describe the six foot, young Ben Affleck look-a-like in a crisply pressed suit, all he knew for certain was he didn’t like the guy, or the way he seemed to enjoy touching Megan. He looked like a guy that had his shit together, business-wise, which only made Drew dislike him even more. And he was making an offer on the ranch, couldn’t forget that little detail. Although noticing how well Megan fit with the guy, the pair creating the perfect, cute couple, Drew wasn’t thinking much about the ranch, more along the lines of how bad of an ass he would make of himself if he took a swing at the guy?

  “Uh… me too,” the guy said scanning her with his nasty eyes.

  The two wandered towards the front entrance. The guy looking back as they opened the screen door, “Mackenzie… thanks again for the helpful tip. The ranch is….quite impressive just as you promised. I’ll be in touch.”