The Ashtons: Walker, Ford & Mercedes
“He’s one of Spencer’s kids with Caroline Lattimer, a former wife. The other Ashton family.” He walked over to a mini bar in the corner and poured himself a shot of tequila, the first time Tamra had seen him drink. “They have a boutique winery about twenty-five miles from here. But that’s not enough for Eli. He’ll probably try to steal the Ashton-Lattimer stocks away from me.”
“Did Spencer leave Caroline’s children anything in the will?”
“Nope.”
“And you don’t think that’s wrong?”
“It’s not my place to judge my uncle’s decision. Besides, Eli is only making a fuss because his grandfather on his mother’s side founded the investment banking business.”
“But Spencer ended up with it?”
“Caroline’s father left it to him. Of course that was before Spencer divorced her. Then again, it doesn’t really matter because their marriage was never legal. Spencer had a wife in Nebraska a long time ago, but he never divorced her.”
Tamra could only stare. Her head was twirling like a top. “And what was her name?”
“Sally. He has grown kids with her, too. Oh, and there’s a little boy Spencer fathered two years ago.”
“He cheated on Lilah?”
“As far as I know, he cheated on all of his wives. Lilah was one of his mistresses before he married her. She was his secretary. The old make-out-in-the-office routine.”
“And this is the man you admired?”
Walker gave her a disturbed stare. “He treated me better than he treated everyone else. What am supposed to do? Hate him for that?”
“No, but you shouldn’t be rude to Irena because her daughter is engaged to Eli.”
“We’re back to that?”
“That’s right, we are. Did you really expect Irena to stop her daughter from falling in love?” She paused, looked at him, felt her heart pick up speed. “Love isn’t something a person can control. Not a parent, not a child, not a man or a woman.”
He frowned, squinted, left his empty shot glass on the bar. “What if Eli contests the will?”
“Then he contests it. That doesn’t have anything to do with Irena. You owe her an apology, Walker.”
“Listen to you. The voice of compassion.” He sat on the edge of the bed again. “But you’re right, I do. I’ll apologize to her tonight, sometime before dinner. After all, she can’t help it if her daughter fell for a selfish jerk.”
Tamra doubted that Eli was the money grubber Walker was making him out to be. She suspected there was more to the story, and Irena had supported her daughter’s decision for all the right reasons. “Good parents try to make their children happy.”
“You’re talking about Irena, right?”
She gave him a solemn nod. She certainly wasn’t referring to Spencer.
Walker gazed out a second-story window, and she followed his line of sight. She couldn’t see the view from her perspective, but she suspected he was gazing at his family’s vineyards, the way he’d studied Mary’s land allotment while he’d been on the rez.
Was he comparing the Napa Valley wine country to the South Dakota plains?
“My mom wants me to be happy,” he said.
“Yes, she does. Mary loves you very much.”
“I know. I can feel her affection.” He turned away from the window. “But I don’t understand it. She barely knows me.”
Tamra walked away from the closet, taking a seat next to him on the bed. “Most mothers have a special bond with their children. I never knew my baby at all. But I loved her.” She placed her hand on his knee, recalling the day she’d buried Jade. “She’ll always be in my heart.”
He touched her face, running his knuckles along her jaw. A masculine caress, a man-to-woman need. “I wish it was that easy for me. That I could love Mary the way she loves me.”
“You will. Someday you will.”
She put her head on his shoulder, and he held her so tight she could hardly breathe. But she didn’t care. She wanted to be as close to him as possible.
He released the top button of her blouse, and she lifted her head, grateful, so incredibly grateful, for his seduction.
As he kissed her neck, as his lips sought her skin, she opened her shirt completely, allowing him access to her bra, to the cleavage between her breasts.
He accepted the offering, putting his mouth all over her, leaving warm, damp marks. Branding her, she thought, taking possession.
They slid onto the bed, lying side by side, caressing, kissing, making each and every sensation count.
Sweet and slow. Dark and sensual.
He removed her bra, then skimmed his hand down her stomach, popping the snap on her jeans, playing with the waistband of her panties. When he moved lower, she caught her breath.
They rolled over the bed, scattering pillows, rumpling the quilt. Wanting more, they took turns undressing each other. And by the time she got to his trousers, he was hard and thick and desperate to straddle her. But she worked his zipper slowly, teasing him, making him wait.
“That’s not fair,” he said.
“Isn’t it?” Tamra found her way into his boxers and skimmed the tip of his arousal, where moisture beaded like an iridescent pearl. She rubbed it onto his skin, and his entire body quaked.
“Not fair at all,” he reiterated.
“You’re impatient,” she whispered in his ear.
“Can’t help it.” He kissed her, swirling his tongue, making love to her mouth.
She finished undressing him, and his breathing accelerated. Finally, when they were flesh to flesh, he braced himself above her.
But he didn’t push her legs apart. He simply gazed at her, taking in every feminine curve. Then he cuffed her wrists with his hands, holding her arms above her head, making her his prisoner.
Tamra could only imagine how she looked, her nipples peaked, her areolae several shades darker than her brown skin.
“You’re the most compatible lover I’ve ever had,” he said.
“Have there been a lot?”
“It depends—” he lowered his head and flicked his tongue over one of her breasts “—on what someone considers a lot.”
She didn’t try to free herself, even though he still held her captive. She liked his game, his decisive maneuvers.
Sexual strategy. Her heart pounded with anticipation.
A strand of hair fell across his eyebrows, making him seem like a rebel. She itched to run her fingers down his spine, to sink her nails into his back.
But he offered her something even better. In the blink of an eye, he rolled over and took her with him, shifting until she was poised above him, with her legs sprawled across his lap.
“Want to go for a ride?” he asked.
Her breath rushed out; her pulse stumbled. She envisioned riding him until the end of time, until the sun disappeared and the moon spun in the sky. “Yes.”
“Then do it.” He gripped her waist. “Do it to both of us.”
She didn’t have a choice. She wanted him so badly, her life could have depended on it. More than ready, Tamra lifted her hips and slid down, taking him inside.
His fingers tightened around her waist, moving her up and down, setting the rhythm.
Deep, wet, intoxicating.
She leaned over to kiss him, to suck on his tongue. Desperate sex, she thought. Suddenly Walker tasted like the tequila he’d drunk.
Or was that the flavor of passion? Of the heat between them? The spiraling sensation of liquid fire?
They made love like animals on the verge of an attack. He lunged forward, so they were face-to-face, so she could look directly in his eyes while they practically tore each other apart.
She clawed his chest, raking her nails over every muscle. He ravaged her shoulders, using his teeth, nearly bruising her.
“This is insane,” she said.
Beautifully crazy.
He didn’t respond. He just encouraged her to keep going, to keep milking his body with hers. Harder, faster, deeper.
The room twirled in a haze of color. Daylight burned bright. She could almost feel the sun melting over her skin, dripping in sweet, sticky rivulets.
A hot, hip-grinding climax shattered inside her, making her shudder, making the wetness between her legs seem like honey.
And then she realized that Walker had spilled into her, that the dampness had come from him.
Her lover.
The man sweeping her away.
Eight
Tamra stepped out of the bathroom with a thick, fluffy towel wrapped around her. Everything at the Ashton Estate was luxurious.
Too luxurious, she thought, as she walked over to Walker’s dresser to get some fresh undergarments.
He lounged on the bed with a towel wrapped around him, too. After they’d made love, they’d taken a shower together, but she’d remained in the bathroom to apply her makeup and blow-dry her hair.
His hair, she noticed, was still a little damp, combed away from his face and styled with a dollop of gel.
He smiled at her, and she slipped on her bra and panties and put her towel in a nearby hamper. Once she found the courage to return his smile, she looked through her side of the closet. She didn’t want him to know how nervous she was about having dinner with his family.
“Do the Ashtons dress for their meals?” she asked.
“Nope.” He drew his knees up, nearly flashing her. “We eat naked.”
She sighed, almost laughed, wished he wasn’t so damn charming. “You know what I mean.”
“Lilah always dresses for dinner, but you don’t have to worry about that. Just wear whatever feels right.”
She scanned her modest selection and decided on a white skirt, a white blouse and a beaded belt she’d bought from a Lakota craftswoman. She added a noticeable array of silver and turquoise jewelry she’d acquired over the years.
“Now you really look Indian,” Walker said.
She turned to face him, preparing for a fight. “Is that a problem for you?”
“No. I like it.”
She let out the breath she was holding. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He frowned a little. “I’m not ashamed of your heritage, Tamra. Of my heritage,” he added. “I’m comfortable with who we are.”
“Are you?” she asked, hating how temporary their affair was, how throwaway it suddenly seemed.
A fire ignited in his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You would never relocate to Pine Ridge.”
“Is there a reason I’m supposed to?”
Caught in an argument of her own making, she fussed with a wide silver bracelet, tightening it around her wrist, squeezing the edges of the metal. “No, of course not.”
He didn’t drop the subject. “It’s a bit late for me to start my life over, to move in with my mom and pretend that we haven’t been separated for twenty-two years. Besides, how would I survive on the rez? I’m the interim CEO of an investment-banking firm.”
“Interim? You took over Ashton-Lattimer when Spencer died?”
“I was the executive vice president before he was killed. I’m the logical choice.”
“So you think the board is going to vote you in permanently?”
He nodded. “I’m on a leave of absence right now. But as soon as you and Mary return to Pine Ridge, I’m going back to work. I imagine it will happen then.”
She gave her bracelet another tight squeeze. “And you’re going to accept the position?”
“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?”
She shrugged off his question, as well as the intensity in his eyes. She had no right to challenge his choices. He’d already warned her that happily-everafter wasn’t in the cards.
Then why did she feel so dejected? So fearful of losing him?
“I’m going to check on your mom,” she said.
“Dinner isn’t for another hour.”
“I know, but I want to see how she’s settling in.”
Tamra put on her shoes and ventured down the hall, leaving Walker alone in his apartment. She didn’t worry about getting lost since Mary’s room was located in the west wing, near the upper foyer. She knocked on the door and received an instant welcome.
The older woman smiled, admiring Tamra’s ensemble. “You look pretty.”
“Thank you.” She noticed Mary was dressed in her ratty bathrobe, with hot curlers in her hair, looking as nervous as Tamra felt. “What are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know. This place is so doggone fancy.” Walker’s mother pursed her lips. “What do you think of my wake dress?”
“I didn’t know you brought it.”
“I figured I should.”
“In case someone died?”
“Goodness, no.” Mary looked at her, and they both laughed. “In case I needed a simple black dress.”
“I think it’s perfect.”
Mary breathed a sigh of relief, and Tamra helped her get ready, hoping the Ashton dinner didn’t feel like a wake.
An hour later they were seated in the formal dining room. The table was graced with fresh-cut flowers, elegant china and pristine linens.
Walker and Trace, the cousin he’d complained about, had acknowledged each other brusquely, but Trace had greeted Tamra and Mary in a muchwarmer tone. Tamra thought he was handsome with his athletic build and stunning green eyes. She also sensed that his passions ran deep, that there was more to him than Walker was willing to admit.
Paige, the other cousin who lived at the estate, seemed like a peacemaker, quiet and unassuming yet keenly aware of her surroundings. Her almond-shaped eyes darted between the two men. Was she hoping they would quit giving each other the cold shoulder? Come to their senses and behave like family?
Lilah, on the other hand, pretended not to notice. She dined on the first course, a silver fork in her hand and a row of pearls looped around her neck.
Tamra wished someone would say something. That a conversation would flow. She glanced at Paige, who gave her a comforting smile. Blond highlights dazzled her light-brown hair, framing her face in soft layers. She was, Tamra thought, a breath of fresh air in an otherwise tense situation.
Lilah finally broke the silence. “Do you like your room?” she asked Mary.
“Oh, yes. It’s lovely,” Walker’s mother responded.
“It’s been redecorated since Charlotte was a child.” Lilah took a bite of her watercress salad, chewed, swallowed, then continued speaking. “I had no idea that you were alive. Spencer told everyone, including me, that you’d died with your husband.”
Mary looked at her son, then returned her gaze to Lilah. “I appreciate you taking care of my children.”
“Well, yes, of course.” The redhead almost fumbled with her fork, proving that she hadn’t been happy about Spencer bringing home two half-breed kids. “Charlotte was so shy. I never knew what she was thinking. Now Walker—” she paused to nod her head at him “—he’s a bit more predictable.”
“Stubborn?” Mary asked.
“Precisely.” Lilah sighed. “At least with me. He behaved wonderfully for Spencer.”
“Hey.” The man in question shifted in his seat, then winked at Mary, teasing her with his “stubborn” charm. “That’s not fair. You two can’t gang up on me.”
His mother smiled at him. “I think we just did.”
When Lilah agreed, everyone at the table relaxed. A moment later Irena entered the dining room, informing Lilah that there was an important phone call for her.
Lilah thanked the head housekeeper and excused herself. But when she returned after a short absence, she gripped the back of her chair.
“It was Stephen Cassidy,” she announced.
Walker looked up. “Spencer’s attorney? Is there news about the will?”
She shook her head. “Stephen heard some rumors about the murder investigation.”
Spencer’s murder, Tamra thought, as Lilah’s knuckles turned white.
“The police are building a case against Grant.” She all but spat the suspect’s name. “They’re going to put that traitor behind bars.”
“Are you sure?” This came from Paige, who blew out an anxious breath. Trace was on edge, as well, waiting to hear what else his mother had to say.
She continued in a tight voice. “Supposedly the authorities uncovered something that could be highly damaging, something that goes beyond circumstantial evidence.”
“What is it?” Trace asked. “What did they find out?”
“Stephen wasn’t able to secure the details.” Lilah resumed her seat and reached for her wine, downing the contents much too quickly. “I just wish this nightmare would end. That I could stop envisioning my husband with a bullet in his heart.”
“Who’s Grant?” Tamra asked.
“Spencer’s son by his first wife,” Walker responded.
“The one in Nebraska?”
“Yes, but she’s been gone a long time. She died when Grant and his twin sister were about twelve.” Walker picked up his knife and stabbed his roll. “Grant doesn’t have an alibi for the night Spencer was shot, and he was at my uncle’s office earlier that day, arguing with Spencer. If what Stephen heard is true, then it’s only a matter of time before the police arrest him.” He cut the roll into several jagged pieces. “I hope that bastard goes to hell for what he did to my uncle.”
Tamra studied the darkness in her lover’s eyes, the pain of losing his mentor.
Dinner had, indeed, turned into a wake.
Even if no one eulogized Spencer, he was there.
The murder victim. The man someone, possibly Grant Ashton, hated enough to kill.
As the morning sun shone in the sky, Walker sat beneath a veranda located behind the house. Lost in thought, he scanned the gardens, the plants and flowers that flourished in the dew-misted air.
Tamra sat next to him at a glass-topped table. Charlotte, Alexandre and Mary were there, too. Walker had watched his mother and his sister embrace. He’d seen Charlotte cry in Mary’s arms.
Even Alexandre had hugged Mary with ease. And he’d called her Maman, French for Mother. It had flowed from his lips naturally, and he was only the prospective son-in-law.
Walker had never seen Mary so happy. She and Charlotte paged through the photo albums Mary had brought, the family pictures that had yet to jar Walker’s memories.
Why couldn’t he remember his parents?
“Look how handsome Daddy was,” Charlotte said. She leaned toward Mary, studying David’s image.
“And look how beautiful you are.” Mary touched her daughter’s cheek, clearly awed by the young woman she’d become.
Walker had to admit that his sister was beautiful, with her long streaming hair and petite yet willowy figure. She wore a flowing summer dress, as bright as the garden that surrounded them.
“Charlotte runs Ashton Estate Botanicals,” Walker said, gesturing in the distance. “The greenhouse is that way.” More flowers, he thought. More plants.
“I plan to set up an independent nursery,” his sister added. “But for now, I’ll remain at Ashton Botanicals, training someone to take over for me.”
“An independent nursery?” Mary asked. “Away from the estate?”
Charlotte nodded. “I haven’t decided if I’ll establish it in Napa Valley or in France. But either way, it will be my own company.”
“That’s wonderful. Your father had a green thumb. He could make anything grow.”
Yes, Walker thought, their dad had been a farmer. A man who’d lived off the land. Sometimes he wondered why he himself hadn’t been born to Spencer and Lilah instead of David and Mary.
A moment later the thought shamed him, making him feel like the worst kind of bastard. He moved his chair closer to the table. “May I have that?” He motioned to a photograph of David, Mary, Charlotte and him. The last picture of all of them together, taken on New Year’s Day in 1983. The year their lives had changed forever.
Mary glanced up and snared his gaze. “Of course you can.” She removed the faded snapshot and handed it to him.
“Thank you.” He pressed it to his chest, just a smidgen away from his heart. “I won’t lose it. I’m going to scan it into my computer so I can make a copy.”
His mother smiled. “I trust you.”
Charlotte and Alexandre smiled at him, too. Selfconscious, Walker cleared his throat. Tamra put her hand on his knee, and he turned to look at her, wishing he could kiss her, hold her, let her absorb his tangled emotions.
“Oh, Mama,” Charlotte said, breaking the silence. “It’s so wonderful to have you here. To be with you. When I was a little girl, I would dream of you. Imagine a day like today.” She paused, and her voice hitched. “Somewhere deep down, I never believed that you were dead.”
Alexandre touched his fiancée’s shoulder. “Ma petite,” he whispered, lending his support.
The women turned teary-eyed, and Walker wished he could love as deeply as his sister, that he could be more like her. But he wasn’t a dreamer. He’d never questioned the tale Spencer had told him. He’d trusted his uncle.
“Will you give me a tour of the greenhouse?” Mary asked her daughter.
“Yes. And you must stay with Alexandre and me, at our new home.” Charlotte turned to Walker. “Would that be all right with you?”
“Sure,” he said, knowing he couldn’t interfere with the precious time his mom and his sister had. “Tamra and I will go to San Francisco while Mom stays with you. Then we can all get together before they go back to Pine Ridge.”
“That sounds perfect.” Charlotte reached for Mary’s hand. “Alexandre and I are going to visit your home, too. As soon as we can arrange a trip.”
“Maybe you can come for the powwow at the end of the month,” the older woman said.
“A Sioux gathering?” Charlotte beamed. “I’ve always wanted to be close to my heritage. To know more about it.”
“Then I’ll teach you.” Mary squeezed her hand. “Your father always told me that I should be proud of my culture. That I should encourage you and your brother to be proud. But I kept losing sight of that.”
“Is that why he wanted me to have a shield?” Walker asked.
His mother nodded. “A shield reflects a warrior’s medicine, everything in his life. Protection in combat, success in the hunt, being a good lover, finding the right mate. Even visions and dreams are represented.”
He wished he had visions and dreams. Something beyond Ashton-Lattimer. “That’s a nice sentiment.”
“It’s more than sentiment. It projects who you are.” Mary scooted closer to him. “I can make you a shield, the way I’d originally intended to. Or I can teach you how to make one. You can put your own symbols on it. Animals, colors, anything you want.”
Would a shield bind him to the Oglala Lakota Sioux Nation? Or would it be a forgery? He’d told Tamra that he was comfortable with his heritage, but was that a lie? Would he stop being Lakota when he returned to Ashton-Lattimer? When he started behaving like a corporate wasicu again? Or a brash, citified iyeska?
“Walker?” his mother pressed.
“What?”
“Do you want me to make it? Or would like to create it yourself?”
“You can do it.” He glanced at the picture of his family. “But will you put something on it that represents us?” He lifted the photograph. “You, Dad, Charlotte and me?” He released a ragged breath. “And Tamra, too?”
Tamra looked up at him, and he wondered if he should have kept quiet instead of mentioning her name. Although she smiled, she seemed surprised, maybe even a little shy, about what he’d said.
Mary glanced at his lover, then back at him. “She’s good for you. You’re good for each other.”
“I think so, too,” Charlotte said.
“Oui,” Alexandre offered his opinion, as well. “I agree.”
Okay, great. Now that everyone had just embarrassed the hell out of him, Walker didn’t know how to respond. His relationship with Tamra wasn’t meant to last. He wanted her to be represented on his shield because he was going to lose her.
And lose a piece of himself after she was gone.
Several hours later Walker sat at the oak desk in his extra bedroom. He scanned the picture on his computer, created a “family photos” file and printed it. Next he saved it on a disc and packed it for the San Francisco trip.
He was used to switching computers. He had a PC at both home locations, as well as a laptop he carried for airports, hotel rooms and places in between.