Sugar Baby
At Mack’s feet, Barney whined, his soft brown eyes full of concern. Mack chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re making me feel about ten years old, Wayne. How do you do it?”
“Comes with age, son. You get old as me, you get to say whatever you please, even if it’s none of your damn business.” He eyed Mack over his bifocals. “So, how long is Miss Woodson’s visit?”
Mack drew in a deep breath. “Longer than she counted on. That’s why I drove over here tonight to see you, Wayne. She’s having to stay at Sugarland whether she likes it or not because the boy claims he saw a man murdered this afternoon at the White Hotel.”
“What the hell!” Wayne wasn’t shocked often. “You’re gonna have to explain that in a little more detail, son.”
Mack gave him the whole story, including his own doubts. Unlike Mack, Wayne was inclined to accept Danny’s account of what he saw. When he repeated the incident at Star-Mart, the sheriff frowned ferociously.
“You say Miss Woodson believes the boy saw what he claims to have seen?” he asked.
“Yeah. She said she had doubts at first because they’d been watching something on TV that had a lot of violence, and she’d made Danny turn it off and watch cartoons instead.”
“Sounds to me like she’s a conscientious mama as well as a sensible person,” Wayne remarked.
Mack grunted. “Whatever. But the hotel found no signs of a struggle or blood or anything that lent any credence to what Danny said.”
“A mother usually knows her child, Mack.”
“Yeah. That’s why I drove over here. I don’t know what you can do without stirring up a hornet’s nest, but I’d appreciate your looking into this,” Mack told him. “As you guessed, I’m going to be busy at Sugarland. I’ve got an office in Lafayette, but since Dad’s heart attack and especially now that Michelle is with me, I’ve been trying to manage at home.” He stood up, frowning at the window where lightning flashed intermittently through the ancient oak trees on the side of the courthouse. “It’s too risky leaving her alone to do much investigating on my own.”
“Who, Michelle?”
“No, Claire.” Bumping his hat restlessly against his right thigh, he missed Wayne’s sharp look. “She wanted to drive back to Houston, can you believe that? I told her no way. A woman alone, some nut out there looking for her, she needs a keeper, for God’s sake.”
“It’s a nasty job, but I guess somebody’s got to do it.”
“You can’t be too careful,” Mack said, ignoring the taunt. He settled his hat on his head. “As you pointed out, I have a family responsibility here, Wayne. This is Carter’s son, the only other grandchild my folks are likely to have.”
“I don’t know as I’d say that, not just yet,” Wayne drawled, rising from his chair. “You’ve still got a few good years. What are you now, Mack, thirty-nine, forty?”
“Forty-two last month, Wayne,” Mack said dryly. “And I don’t plan on producing any other heirs. For that, a man needs a wife, and I don’t intend making that mistake again.”
Wayne shook his head. “That Liz sure did a number on you, didn’t she?”
“It wasn’t just Liz,” Mack said, wincing as a crash of thunder shook the windowpanes. “We never should have married in the first place. I knew she was out of her element when I brought her to Sugarland. She was a city girl. She was miserable from day one.”
Wayne gave a snort. “What about her vows? A woman’s supposed to stick with her man.”
“It was thirteen years ago, Wayne,” Mack said. He took no offense at his friend’s frankness, possibly because Liz’s desertion no longer hurt the way it once had. “It’s in the past.”
“Not the way I see it.” Wayne clamped his cigar in his mouth. “What with her dumping little Michelle on you after poisoning her against her Louisiana relatives, including you.” He fumbled around, moving things on his desk top, looking for a match. “The woman’s a piece of work, that’s what she is.”
“She’s a little spoiled,” Mack agreed, heading for the door. “But she’s Victor DeBartolo’s problem now, not mine.”
Wayne squinted at Mack through a fresh cloud of smoke. “He’s still in Washington, I guess.”
“You know as well as I do where Vic is. You know everything else.”
“Good place for him.” Wayne reached for his suit coat and shrugged into it. “Her, too.”
Mack laughed. “Next time Liz calls, I’ll be sure and mention you send your regards.”
They went out together, both chuckling.
At the door, Mack stopped. “One thing you can do for me now, Wayne. I need to get Claire’s luggage, but it’s probably best for somebody besides me to pick it up. If the boy did actually witness something and somebody’s watching the room, I wouldn’t want them to make the connection that Claire and the boy are at Sugarland.”
Wayne turned to the deputy. “Jerry, call Al and tell him to pick up Claire Woodson’s things at the White Hotel, then tell him Mack will meet him at Melrose Crossing in about thirty minutes to take ‘em off his hands. Tell him to give no information to the hotel.” He looked at Mack. “Thirty minutes ought to do it, huh?”
“It should. Thanks, Wayne.”
“No problem.”
They were walking through the office, when another mighty clap of thunder shook the place. At the door, Wayne clapped him on the shoulder. “My Miriam was a redhead, did you know that?”
Mack clamped his hat on his head, getting ready to make a run for it. “I don’t remember her hair ever being anything but snow-white.”
“Yeah. Turned that way nearly overnight. She wasn’t a day over forty…She always blamed it on you and Mike.”
It was still raining, but Mack was smiling as he dashed for his Jeep.
HE DROVE through a steady downpour all the way to Sugarland. Just as Wayne ordered, one of his men was waiting at Melrose Crossing with Claire’s luggage. Not much to it, he thought as he stored a suitcase and an overnight case in the back of the Jeep. If the visit lasted more than a week, she’d probably need to get a few more things.
He tried to convince himself he didn’t care whether she was there a week or a day.
As he turned in the curved driveway, the Jeep’s headlights swept over the house. Except for the garage area, which was separate from the main house, the whole place was dark. He stopped the car and got out, heading around to the tailgate. As he pulled it open, he glanced up at the second-story bedroom where Claire and the boy were staying. That, too, was dark. Apparently she wasn’t losing any sleep worrying about her situation. He slammed the tailgate and started up the steps.
“Is that my luggage?”
Startled at the sound of her voice, he almost dropped the bags.
“Sorry, I guess you didn’t see me.”
“What are you doing out here?” he said. “This is a hell of an electrical storm. You could be struck by lightning.”
“I couldn’t sleep. And storms have never made me nervous.” She took the overnight case, leaving the larger piece for him to carry. “Thanks for picking this up.”
He didn’t waste any time getting the door open and urging her inside. There was just enough light to reveal what she was wearing. And how she looked. A big T-shirt and shorts. In the denim dress today, he’d guessed that her legs were fantastic. He’d been right. The only wrong note was her hair. He wondered what it would be like not tied back. Earlier her hair had been pulled back and pinned in some severe-looking twist. Now it was braided, starting at the crown of her head. He imagined her red hair all loose and flowing. He could almost feel his fingers sift through it. He could almost see it spread out and—
He caught himself up abruptly. What the hell was he doing fantasizing about this woman? He cleared his throat. “I see that you found something to wear.”
“Michelle generously offered this workout set.” She pulled at the T-shirt, trying to stretch the garment to midthigh. “One size fits all. I was glad for the clothes, but I’ll feel more comfortable in my own things.”
“They couldn’t look any better on you.”
She was instantly on guard. Like a doe caught in headlights.
“I’ll just take this on up to my room,” she said, slipping past him to hurry up the stairs.
Watching her escape—there was no other word for it—he wished he could take back the remark, but the words had been out before he could stop them. Why was she so skittish?
Frowning, he climbed the stairs himself, but at a pace that gave him time to contemplate the contrasts and complexities of Claire Woodson. There was a remoteness about her that didn’t fit the way he’d thought of her for years. He recalled that night in Houston when she’d been with Carter. Mack remembered her smiling, almost sparkling with emotion as she clung to Carter on the dance floor. And then Carter had spotted him, had made the introductions reluctantly.
The picture of Claire Woodson as she’d been that night had stayed with Mack. As for this woman with the severe hairdo, the disconcertingly direct gaze, the calm grace and quiet manner, she did not fit that other picture. Just who was the real Claire Woodson?
CHAPTER FOUR
THE CONTINUING DRONE of a small plane pulled Claire out of a deep sleep. Her subconscious had been aware of the sound for some time, long enough to pierce her defenses and trigger a dream. She was in a small plane with Carter at the controls. He was talking to her, smiling, gesturing with eager, almost manic, enthusiasm. He didn’t seem worried that he was flying the plane recklessly, zipping up and down, buzzing landmarks, going into a tailspin that brought her heart into her mouth. The controls on the instrument panel were going haywire. Trapped and terrified, Claire cried out at him to be careful, but he laughed at her. When she couldn’t reason with him, she opened the door to get out of the plane. She looked down in panic on an ocean of green sugarcane undulating in a summer breeze as the plane spiraled to the ground.
She awoke with a start.
To escape the nightmare, she wanted to spring out of bed, but her body felt heavy, weighted down by fear coursing through paralyzed limbs. Even her mind functioned sluggishly. She studied her surroundings in growing confusion. Where was she? The bedroom in her Houston condo had no floral wallpaper, no slowly revolving ceiling fan. Her bed had no tall cherry-wood foot posts.
And then she remembered. She was at Sugarland. Of course. With the McMolleres.
She rose on one elbow and rubbed a hand over her face. It had been such a long night. For hours her mind had been in turmoil. No relaxation techniques had worked. The last time she’d looked at the clock, it had been after four. It was now only a few minutes before six.
Slipping out of bed, she pulled on a robe and headed for the bathroom, which lay between the large guest suite Wyona had placed her in and a smaller bedroom the right size for a child. Unsurprisingly, considering the bizarre day he’d had, Danny had not been eager to stay in his room alone. It had been Michelle who’d persuaded him. Angry, hurting, rebellious Michelle. Claire wasn’t sure what the girl had promised him, but whatever it was, Danny had finally settled down. Claire had been grateful. Once again, she’d found herself wondering what was wrong between Michelle and Mack. Almost instinctively she wanted to reach out to the teenager, but she reminded herself that Michelle’s problems weren’t her concern. She couldn’t afford to get embroiled in this family’s affairs. Claire was here only because of the threat to Danny. Her son—not Mack’s troubled daughter—was the one who mattered right now.
In the bathroom, she realized that the sound of the small plane had not let up. Through the window, she watched the craft swoop low, spewing out a cloud of pesticide, the fuselage almost brushing the tops of the waving sugarcane. Barely dawn and a pilot was already crop-dusting. She rubbed her forehead, groaning at the early hours that farmers kept. Still, Danny would be interested, she thought, making a mental note to ask Mack to tell him about growing and processing sugar before it appeared on the table in tiny white granules to sweeten his cereal.
She went to check on him and found his bed empty. For a second, she stared around blankly. His pajamas were discarded beside a chair and his sneakers were gone. How could he have left without her hearing a sound? Her heart stumbled, but she told herself not to panic. Drawing the belt tight on her robe, she hurried into the hall. The house was eerily silent in the way houses are before their occupants rise. There was no sign of Danny or anybody else.
Fighting panic, she went to the banister of the winding staircase and leaned over it. “Danny,” she called, trying to keep her voice under control. “Danny, where are you?”
No answer. She whirled, about to go back to her room and get dressed. She could hardly search the place in her nightgown and robe. Behind her a door opened.
“What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” Wyona McMollere came out of a bedroom, her fair hair frizzed around her head and her eyeglasses cocked as though she’d donned them in a hurry.
“I’m looking for my son, Mrs. McMollere,” Claire said. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
“At this hour?” the woman asked, glancing around as though expecting Danny to materialize out of nowhere. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” In a nervous gesture, Claire caught up her long hair as she tried to think. “He’s not in his room and his sneakers are gone.”
Angus McMollere shuffled up behind Wyona, leaning on his cane. “What’s all the ruckus?” he demanded, his scowl directed at Claire.
“My son isn’t in his room,” Claire said. “I need to find him.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Wyona said.
“Of course, he’s fine,” Angus snapped. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
“Then where is he?” Claire cried, her heart starting to pound in panic. “It’s not even six o’clock in the morning!”
“Hear now, girl,” Angus said, shuffling toward her with his cane. “Just hold on. He’s around somewhere. Let’s see what Mack thinks.”
“Danny knows not to go anywhere with strangers,” Claire said.
“What strangers would you be referring to?” Angus demanded, his frown fierce. “There’re no strangers in this house, at least none who’d lure off a five-year-old.”
“Everyone here is a stranger to Danny,” she said tightly, anxiety making her blunt.
“And who’s fault is that!” Angus retorted with a thump of his cane.
“Maybe he’s just exploring the house,” Wyona offered helpfully. “Little boys are like that.”
“Danny wouldn’t explore anything without asking me first.”
“He’s a McMollere,” Angus argued. “They don’t always do what their mamas say.”
Disobedience was hardly something to be proud of, Claire thought with disgust. Before she said something she would regret, she turned to go, then halted at the sound of someone entering the front door downstairs. Wyona released a small relieved sigh. “Oh, oh, thank goodness, Mack’s here.”
Mack? He wasn’t in his bedroom sleeping?
All eyes were on him as he came up the curved staircase. His gaze went first to Claire. “What’s wrong?”
“Have you seen Danny?”
“Danny?” His blank look said everything.
“He’s gone!”
Wyona touched Angus’s arm. “Maybe Michelle—”
Mack walked over to them, frowning. “Gone where? What’s going on here?”
“He’s not in his bed,” Claire said. “I checked on him a few minutes ago. He’s not in the house. I should have let him sleep with me. He wanted to, but I thought—”
“Hey, take it easy.” Mack caught her hand and stopped her, gave it a little squeeze. “Wherever he is, he’s fine. He’s around somewhere. This is a big house.”
She pulled her hand away. “He’s not in the house. He would have heard me calling and said something.”
“Maybe the crop duster woke him up,” Mack suggested. “He probably snuck out to investigate.”
“Not without asking me,” she repeated stubbornly.
“Well, he sure can’t have been kidnapped right under our noses, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Mack observed.
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Claire said curtly, wrapping her arms around her waist. “With everything that happened yesterday, I should have kept him in the room with me. Until we know why that man was killed, Danny shouldn’t be out of my sight.”
“We don’t know yet that a man was killed,” Mack reminded her.
“You may not know it, but I do!”
“Okay, have it your way,” Mack said, more to calm her, she guessed, than because he actually agreed with her. “But let’s see if anybody outside the house has seen him before we panic, okay?”
“I was just about to do that,” Claire said. She was trembling, an inch away from falling apart and more relieved to see Mack than she cared to admit.
“I’ll get Cleo to make a thorough search downstairs. She might have seen something.”
“Cleo?”
“The housekeeper,” he said. “You met her last night.”
“Oh. Oh, yes.” Distracted, she pushed her hands through her hair, only then recalling that it was loose and uncombed and that she must look like something the cat dragged in.
“You might want to change into something else.”
Something in his tone intensified her embarrassment. She didn’t reply, but turned and hurried down the hall to do just that.
FOR A BEAT OR TWO, Mack stood watching her go. Fresh out of bed in a panic, she’d not taken time to pull her hair back. It was as he’d remembered—a rich auburn with fiery streaks. He was torn between feeling sympathy for her as a scared mother whose kid was probably off exploring interesting new territory, and losing himself in a sexual fantasy over the look of her, all dewyeyed and sleep-soft. It was no wonder she wore that tight bun and those longish dresses that didn’t touch her anywhere except her shoulders. To leave them off was to allow people to see her as she really was: her breasts rounded and lush, her waist small enough to span with his hands, a soft shape he itched to hold.
Was she simply putting on an act for her visit to Danny’s relatives? Possibly she thought that if she looked prim and proper enough, she would fool them all into thinking she was prim and proper. Not likely, since Miriam Pagett had been taken in, too, according to Wayne. And that was well over two years ago when Claire couldn’t have known she would be compelled to visit Carter’s folks.
Whatever the answer was, he didn’t have time to figure it out now. Claire’s concern for Danny was genuine. And he hadn’t just been blowing smoke when he’d told her the boy was safe so long as he was on Sugarland grounds. So where was he? In the car yesterday, everything Danny saw had fascinated him. Like any child might, he’d probably popped out of bed at the crack of dawn and decided to do a little sight-seeing on his own.
Not that Claire was in any frame of mind to accept that, Mack thought, bumping his Stetson against his thigh as he turned to go back downstairs. The problem with these city folks was that they overreacted to everything. It came from being penned up in climatecontrolled condos, or barricaded behind the locked gates of some planned community where they didn’t know anybody but the manager. They forgot what it was like to live a regular life. Not that things were all that regular around here since yesterday. In all fairness, he had to admit that.
Claire was scared to death. He was surprised to find that he didn’t like the idea of her worrying unnecessarily. She’d already gotten more than she’d bargained for in her visit to Sugarland. Quickly putting on his hat, he headed for the front door.
Claire was right behind him. “Michelle’s not in her room,” she said, tucking in the tails of a plain white shirt. Her hair, he noted, was again slicked back and anchored at her nape with an elastic ring.
“Well, they’re together, you can count on it.”
“How can you know that!” she cried. “I’ve been here less than a day, but it’s long enough to show me that Michelle isn’t a typical teenager. She could be anywhere and you wouldn’t know it, what with the relationship you two share. She could be at her friend’s house where we picked her up yesterday. She sure wouldn’t take Danny with her if I’m right.”
“You’re wrong.”
“About your relationship or the other?”
“The other,” he said, his reply clipped. He didn’t intend to discuss Michelle with her. “Michelle might well sashay off to her friend’s house without asking, but not at this hour. She’s at the barn.”
“The barn?”
“With the horses. It’s the only thing she likes about Sugarland.”
“You have horses?”
“Yeah, we have horses. We’ve got a lot of land, you might have noticed that,” he reminded her dryly. “Horses get around in a cane field much better than Jeeps.”
“Yes, but…” They were outdoors now and she could see beyond the immediate grounds—which were landscaped and meticulously maintained—to the acres and acres of sugarcane. “I just didn’t think.”
He headed for his Jeep, and she followed, huffing a little in an effort to keep up with him. He slowed down. He wasn’t used to a woman tagging along, but from the little he knew about Claire Woodson, he suspected wild horses couldn’t keep her from accompanying him on his search for her little boy.
“The barn’s over there.” He pointed east.
She looked, and sure enough, over the waving sugarcane she saw a barn compound. “Don’t you ever get tired of nothing but sugarcane?” she grumbled when she’d climbed into the Jeep.
“It’s cut by the end of the year and then there’s open space as far as the eye can see.”
“Oh.”
“Until the cane is up again.”
She buckled up like a diligent schoolmarm and, hiding a smile, he backed out of the driveway and started to drive the Jeep in the direction of the barn. Catching sight of her worried expression, he said, “Don’t worry, they’ll be there.”
They were. As soon as they reached the compound, they spotted Michelle astride her favorite mare in the corral behind the barn and Danny perched on the fence watching every move she made. The child turned at the sound of the Jeep and began to scramble down to run and meet them.
“Mommy, Mommy, they’ve got horses! Real horses. Michelle says I can learn to ride. I already touched Cherry. That’s her name. She’s a mare. That’s what you call a lady horse. Mommy, this is a neat place. I’m having fun!”
Mack felt a pang in his middle as he watched Claire sweep up the little boy and helplessly bury her face in his neck. She didn’t say anything.
Danny tolerated the emotional display briefly and then squirmed to get down. “Mommy, did you hear me?” he insisted, dragging her by the hand toward the fence. “Michelle is gonna teach me to ride. They have a pony just for me! His name’s Bucko. I bet I can do it, too.”
“Hi!” Michelle called, flashing a smile incredibly like her father’s. With an expert hand, she guided the prancing mare up to the fence. “Danny and I’ve been out forever. Is it time for breakfast? We’re both starved.”
“You may not get any breakfast,” Mack told her sternly. “Or lunch or dinner.”
She rolled her eyes. “What now, for Pete’s sake! I haven’t done anything to get in trouble for yet. It’s too early in the morning.”
Claire caught Mack’s eye. Now that her fear for Danny’s safety was passing, fury was overtaking it. “I’ll handle this,” she told him.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Danny asked, squinting up at her.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Michelle looked curiously from one to the other.
“You took my son out of the house without asking my permission, Michelle,” Claire said, her voice shaking. “Can you imagine how I felt when I woke up and he was gone? I was scared to death.”
“Geez, I’m sorry.” Michelle dismounted with easy grace. Keeping the reins in her hand, she bent down to get through the rails. “I guess I didn’t think. I go riding every morning, anybody around here’ll tell you that. Today was no different, except—”
“You didn’t think?”
“No, I—”