Legacy (Capitol Chronicles Book 5) Page 4

  "Please think about what I've said." Her voice was weak to her own ears. "Carlton's will has some terms that are a bit strange. No matter how I questioned his attorneys they remained adamant about the conditions."

  "Conditions?"

  She swallowed. "Carlton left us in control of his company. We must work together for a year to keep his business—"

  "Stop," he said. "So that's it. That's what this is all about. Another ploy to get me back to the firm. Who is it really? My mother? The firm? Who hired you to act this role?"

  "No one." She looked genuinely startled.

  "I won't do it. I like it fine here, and I'm not leaving. I'll bet there is no Carlton Lipton-Graves. You're here on behalf of my brothers. They want me to come back to the firm. Well, you can climb in your little truck and hightail it back to wherever you came from and tell them your acting was good, but not good enough."

  "I'm not acting. Carlton did leave us his estate."

  "Even if he does exist, he cared nothing for me in life. Why should I suddenly adhere to his wishes?"

  "You get half the estate at the end of a year."

  "I don't want or need his money."

  Erika looked around. Suddenly the cabin he'd rarely ever noticed looked rundown and shabby. It was little more than squalor, except for the section she'd cleaned.

  Michael let out a breath. "I think you'd better leave."

  Erika hesitated, then walked to the door. She opened it. The stars were close enough to touch. Their nearness startled her, but she stepped into the night, anyway. She went to the Bronco and yanked the door open. Pulling herself into the driver's seat she started the engine, then quickly killed it. Next to her sat the album she'd brought. Grabbing it, she went back inside.

  Michael had dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. He looked up when her shoes made a noise on the bare wooden floor. "What now?" he asked.

  Without a word she walked to where he sat. He looked at her as if at any moment he might get up and bodily remove her. She dropped the album on the table. Opening it, she pulled a large manila envelope out and placed it on top. Turning, she left the cabin, and Michael, to himself.

  Michael pulled the envelope and album to him after he'd heard the crunch of gravel the tires had spun up when Erika made her angry getaway. Pushing the envelope with a legal return address aside, he pulled the heavy book onto his knees. His name was embossed on the cover. It fell open at a page that revealed him in full smile. His arms were spread wide. He smiled at the memory. It was his graduation from law school.

  How had she gotten this? Where could she have been to take this without his knowledge? Michael looked at the door as if she were still outside.

  "Damn," he cursed. She had to be wrong.

  Chapter 2

  The road curved tighter than Erika had anticipated. She was speeding a little too fast for the Bronco to master the turn. Her heart leapt to her throat as she fought for control of the truck. It careened toward the edge of the mountain. She prayed it would stop in time. Things seemed to speed up and slow down in the same instant. The rail came frighteningly closer to her. Gravel crunching under the size fifteen tires and the music of Whitney Houston coming from the iPhone attachment were combined into a discordant symphony.

  An inch short of the guardrail, and a three thousand foot drop, the Bronco came to a stop. Erika let out her breath and rested her head on the steering wheel. Switching off the engine, she sat in the dark breathing through her mouth.

  Michael had made her angry. Why had Carlton put her in this position? Why, in the last twenty-six years, hadn't he once mentioned a grandson? Why did he leave them everything? And why now, when she needed to be in her office, was she running around a mountain after a man who couldn't care less about Graves Enterprises?

  Well, she'd done what Carlton asked her. She'd come up here and she'd tried to get him to return. He refused—refused to help her, and refused Carlton's requests. She couldn't be held responsible for his actions. The lawyers would certainly understand that.

  She'd return to Graves Enterprises and resume the position she'd held since she'd come back from California. After all, she had run things. She had taken care of all the problems and kept Carlton informed of her decisions. They had discussed everything for a while, but Carlton's strength ebbed. More and more he'd told her to handle it in her own way. She had. At night she hadn't wanted to burden him with the details of the day, so she'd sat with him and read or talked about the world. She'd let him remember his wife and his son. Yet in those states of memory he'd managed to keep Michael Lawrence a secret.

  Michael's face came into her mind. How long had he been here? Carlton had said it was a long time. By the look of him, he needed care, and the way he'd eaten she thought he was going to make himself sick. She hadn't told him they had only thirty days left to begin the terms of Carlton's last will and testament. If she couldn't persuade him to leave this mountain and return to Philadelphia, she'd lose the company.

  She sat back and stared through the dark window. She had a long drive ahead of her. She had wanted to head home tomorrow, but now it looked as if she'd have to return here and see if he was more willing to talk. She'd left the album and a copy of the will. If he looked at them, he might be willing to listen to reason.

  Erika started the engine. Suddenly the door of the Bronco was yanked at. The lock held, but she screamed as she jerked around to face her assailant. Michael stood angrily in front of the window.

  "We need to talk," he shouted, his voice muffled by the pane of thick glass.

  Erika switched the key to start the engine and the window retracted with a hum of sound. "I have been talking," she told him. She slumped back against the seat. While she wanted to tell him everything she knew, she was too tired. "Tomorrow," she sighed. "I'm absolutely drained now." She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the effects of nearly going over the side of the mountain. "It's a very long drive to the motel."

  "One you'll never make. Move over."

  Michael released the lock, opened the door and pushed her, but her seatbelt kept her in place.

  "I beg your pardon," she said, resisting his effort.

  "You can't stay at that. . .motel." He grinned.

  "Why not? I have a reservation."

  "I'm sure you do, but it's probably gone by now."

  "Why?"

  "Move over." He again tried to climb into the cab, and she again pushed him back "You can stay at the cabin," he told her.

  Keeping him at bay, she said, "You think that's an enticing advertisement for me to return? I'm looking at clean sheets and the absence of a man who thinks I'm a liar. I should give that up for—"

  "It's not a motel," he interrupted her.

  Erika turned toward him as if he'd lost his mind.

  "It's not a real motel," he corrected.

  "I supposed I imagined it," she said. "I suppose I imagined the man I talked to on the phone, too."

  Michael shook his head. Erika could see a faint smile on his face. She wanted to encourage it. She hadn't seen anything but a scowl since she found him by the water.

  "It's a guest house, Erika."

  "And I'm a guest."

  "A tourist home—a place you rent by the hour, not by the night." He paused. "Don't you know what a guest house is?"

  Her eyes must have grown as wide as dinner plates. Realization dawned on her. She hadn't heard of a guest house since she was in high school and her first boyfriend tried to coax her into having sex with him. He knew where there were guest houses in Philadelphia, places where they could go to have sex and no one would question their ages or the fact that they signed the register as George and Martha Washington.

  "Seventy miles is a long way to drive," she said helplessly.

  "I guarantee you there won't be an empty room in that house."

  Her shoulders dropped. "What am I going to do now?"

  "You can stay at the cabin. You can have the bed. I'll sleep on the couch." Michael looke
d down a second. "I apologize, but I do need to talk to you." He paused. "Please."

  Erika stared at him for a long time. His eyes, though still bloodshot, had a life to them. She knew she needed to talk to him, and she didn't look forward to making this drive twice tomorrow. But, as she'd told him, the prospect of spending the night in the cabin with him was no enticement. She couldn't say she'd stayed in worse places. She didn't know if he was lying about the motel being a guest house, but if she drove seventy miles only to find he'd told the truth, she'd have no place to go. Sleeping in the Bronco wasn't something she wanted to do unless she was prepared for it.

  "I'll drive," she said, making a decision.

  He hesitated a second, then slammed the door and went around the back to climb in on the other side. Erika backed away from the guardrail and turned up the mountain.

  "How did you get here?" she asked.

  "I knew you wouldn't get far in the dark and I know these hills. I cut through the trees. My heart nearly stopped when I saw you heading for the guardrail."

  Erika wanted to smile. Her heart swelled at the thought that he was concerned for her safety. Then she remembered the album. He was interested in how Carlton had gotten those pictures, and admitted to herself, she was his only source of information.

  ***

  Michael closed the album. The name on the cover was his, at least part of it. He'd looked through the book three times and still found it difficult to imagine a grandfather. The pictures were definitely of him. He remembered the situations; high school basketball games and the parties they'd had after them, graduation, the class trip, his first day of law school, and his last. Michael couldn't help smiling at the happy memories. Erika sat across from him at the table she'd cleaned, and on which he'd had a meal.

  "He took these?" Michael asked.

  "I don't know. Until a week ago I'd never heard of you."

  "He never mentioned my name?"

  "Not until the night he died." She spoke softly, reverently. "We must have been growing up at the same time. Since I was thirteen I lived at Carlton's house. He travelled a lot. It wouldn't have been difficult for him to attend one of these events without me knowing about it."

  "Tell me about him?"

  Erika got up and went to pick up her purse. She took her wallet out of it and slipped out a snapshot. She handed it to him. "This is a picture of Carlton Lipton-Graves."

  Michael took it. It was a Christmas shot. Erika, in a red dress with white fur collar, sat on the floor in front of a man in a winged chair. Behind them was part of a decorated tree and a roaring fire.

  "We took this last Christmas." She swallowed hard, reseating herself. "It was our last."

  The man was small. He looked directly into the camera, giving Michael a clear view of his face. "This is Carlton?" Michael asked.

  Erika nodded.

  "This man cannot be my grandfather." Michael stood up

  "Why not?"

  "He's white. I can't have a white grandfather."

  "Surprise, Michael, but we don't get to pick our parents as much as we might like to."

  "But—"

  "Look closer at the picture," she interrupted. Reaching across the small table, she touched his hand and pushed the photograph a little closer to him. "Can't you see the resemblance between you and him?"

  Her touch was soft and warm. Michael wanted to grasp it and hold it for a while. He had to concentrate on performing the action she'd requested. When her hand left his he did as she asked.

  "When I saw you by the stream, it was like seeing Carlton again, before age and illness took his strength."

  "We might have some of the same features," he agreed. "But everyone can find a resemblance if they look for it."

  Erika sighed. She was tired and he knew it, but she'd come to him with these "facts" and he wanted to know the truth.

  "What was your association with him?"

  "He raised me. We met when I was eight. When I was a teen, he kind of adopted me. I guess I've been kind of a granddaughter to him. I knew he had a son, but he died before I met Carlton."

  "How old are you?"

  "Thirty-four," she said.

  "I'm thirty-seven. Why didn't he ever come to see me? If he took all these pictures, attended the events that were important in my life, why did he never let me know he existed?"

  "I can't answer that. Knowing Carlton, I do find that a bit strange."

  "Why is that?" Michael asked.

  "Carlton insisted I visit my mother. I'm surprised he had a grandson he never acknowledged."

  Michael didn't reply. Erika had mentioned her mother. Michael needed to talk to his. If even a bit of what Erika said was the truth, Ellen Lawrence had some explaining to do.

  ***

  Michael gasped in the humid air. It was heavy and hard to breathe, pressing against his chest like an invisible hand. He ran up and down streets he'd never seen. His lungs threatened to burst from exhaustion, yet he trudged on. Every breath burned. His legs, like iron appendages, thudded like thunder as the weight of them pounded the ground.

  Disorientation gripped him as he whirled around trying to find something familiar; something that would tell him where she was hiding. He started running again, pulling at the tie around his neck. It came loose. He sucked air into his lungs. It didn't relieve his distress. The hand on his chest pressed harder.

  "Abigail!" he called. "Abigail! Where are you?"

  He stopped, listened. . .nothing. He ran again, seeming to get further behind with every agonizing step.

  Then he saw her. She was frightened, screaming, running away from him, and away from Frank.

  "Frraannnnkkkk, nooooo!" she screamed, her face contorted, her words drawing out several syllables as if she were speaking in slow motion.

  Frank Mason chased Abigail, a gun in his hand. Michael dragged his heavy legs in pursuit. Frank pointed the gun at the scared woman.

  "Noooo . . ." he shouted. The shot rang out. "Noooo . . ."

  Erika sat up straight. Someone was screaming. For a moment she didn't know where she was. Then she remembered the cabin, and Michael. Pushing the blanket aside, she ran barefoot into the cabin's only bedroom.

  She went straight to the bed. Michael fought her as she tried to calm him. His face was bathed in sweat, and his arms flailed madly in the air.

  "It's all right, Michael," she said, keeping her voice calm. "Stop, Michael."

  "Abbyyyyy," he called. His legs raced under the sheets as if he were trying to run lying down.

  Erika didn't know who he called, but she decided the only way to get him quiet was to let him have his wish. "I'm here, Michael." He still fought his unseen demons. His strong arms batted at them. She grabbed for them but missed. Several times they played an air game of arms missing arms. Erika reached again. Michael's fist connected with her jaw, knocking her to the floor. Pain reverberated up her face, through her ear, creating a flash of light before her eyes, then blurring them with tears. Holding her jaw she waited, watching him thrash about in the sheets as if he fought the devil himself.

  Testing her jaw, Erika opened and closed her mouth several times. The pain abated but did not go away. She went back to the bed, resting her knee on the mattress and grabbing at Michael's arms, careful to keep her face sufficiently away from his wild throws.

  "Michael!" she shouted. "Wake up. It's me." She was about to tell him, "It's Erika," when she remembered the woman he'd called. "It's me, Abby," she said. The name calmed him this time. All the fight left his arms, and they grabbed her, pulling her down on top of him and burying his face in her neck. Erika lay weakly against him. His sweat soaked through her shirt. She felt the heat of his body. Hers warmed in response. His hands massaged her back and held her secure. His ragged breathing pumped air through her short hair and around her ear. Erika let him hold her. She didn't move. She was too afraid. She lay like that until his breathing quieted. She raised her face to look at him. Michael's even breathing told her he was asleep. She
let her breath out in a long sigh. Trying to pull herself free, she moved, and her attempt caused his arms to tighten around her.

  Biting her lip, she went still. The pain in her jaw made her relax her muscles. She didn't want Michael to wake up and find her in this position. She didn't want the feelings running through her to emerge. He was nothing like her ideal man. She wanted someone educated, with a good job, a sense of humor, and a ready smile. So why was her body going soft and warm over a bearded mountain man who couldn't take care of himself and had horrible dreams about a woman called Abby?

  Erika breathed in slowly. She was sure the thumping of her heart would wake Michael even if his nightmares didn't. Despite the state of the cabin and Michael's clothes, he smelled like clean air and sunshine.

  Reaching behind her, she caught his arm and pulled it. His hand banked over her buttocks, and sparks rushed up her spine. Involuntarily she arched her back, bringing her into closer contact with his nearly naked body. The pain in her jaw was no competition for the pleasure that flowed through her under his hands. Groaning she rolled off the bed. Holding her stomach, she hobbled to a chair, where she supported herself, forcing herself to breathe in and out. What had happened to her? She'd come in here because Michael was having a bad dream. How had she ended up sprawled across his body, and why did such emotions riot through her? She never felt like this with Bill, and she'd been engaged to him.

  She had to get hold of herself. She'd come through more than one bad relationship and she knew she didn't ever want to be involved in another one, no matter how her body reacted. He'd been in pain. She'd come inside because of her compassionate nature. She hadn't counted on the raw sexuality he'd aroused in her.

  Weak-kneed and breathless, Erika pushed herself away from the chair and went back to the sofa. She was sure she'd spend the rest of the night in open-eyed terror. She didn't want a relationship with Michael. She never wanted a relationship again. Hadn't her mother written that epitaph for her long ago? Relationships weren't her forte and she wasn't even attracted to Michael Lawrence. So why had she reacted as she had? Erika would be glad to see daylight come. She couldn't wait to get off this mountain and away from Michael. She bit her lip at the paradox of her thoughts. It Michael didn't agree to return with her, she'd lose the company. If he did, she'd have to work side by side with him for the next year.