expression froze and she went so still, it was as if she wasn’t even breathing. There was a long, electric silence, her agitation almost palpable. Then she abruptly picked up a muffin and broke it in half. Her face carefully arranged into a non-expression, she spoke, her tone artificially bright. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, Conner. Everything is fine.”
Conner ate his way through half a muffin, then took a sip of coffee, considering how to play his hand. Finally he brushed the crumbs off his fingers and looked at her. There was a hint of a smile around his mouth when he finally spoke. “You’re a lousy liar, Abby.” He paused, then spoke again. “And an even worse actress. So cut the guff, okay?”
Her head came up and her gaze riveted on his face, her eyes as wide as saucers; then she looked down again, her movements jerky. “I don’t have any guff to cut, Conner,” she said, her tone just a little snippy. “I think you’ve fallen off one too many horses.”
She almost made him laugh—Abby had always been able to make him laugh. And he had to admit that he was amused by the way she was maneuvering away from his question, but he wasn’t that easy to lose. Hooking his thumb in his belt, he leaned back and considered her a moment, and he could almost feel her squirm. He was also very good at maneuvering. He indicated the muffins. “These are very good.”
She lifted her chin, and gave him one of her cool looks. “Thank you. I think.”
He smiled, then leaned forward, braced his elbows on the table and laced his hands together. He studied her, not liking the awful tension he sensed in her. He decided then that their little game was over. Under the circumstances, he figured his nephew would understand. Using that same quiet tone of voice, he spoke. “Cody called me last night.”
She went very still again, and he caught a glimmer of alarm in her eyes. Satisfied that he had gotten her full attention, he continued. “He was pretty worried. He said that he thinks something is wrong with you—that you don’t go to work anymore and he hears you crying late at night, and that you forget things.” He shifted his clasped hands, then fixed his gaze on her. “So why don’t you just tell me what’s going on, Abigail?”
There was an instant, just an instant, where she sat staring at him, almost as if she were paralyzed, then she abruptly covered her face with her hands, a low sound wrenched from her. Experiencing a fierce, painful cramp in his chest, Conner forced himself to keep his hands laced together, the need to touch her almost unmanageable. Sometimes it was damned hard playing big brother around her. Too damned hard.
Unable to watch, Conner looked away, his face feeling like granite as he ran his thumbnail down a pattern carved in the ceramic mug. The sounds coming from across the table were tearing him to shreds inside. But there was nothing he could do. At least not without crossing a line he’d sworn he would never cross.
He had just about reached his limit when Abby finally lifted her head and quickly wiped her face with the napkin, her face swollen and red. She let her breath go in a shuddering sigh, then she began fiddling with the napkin. Finally she lifted her head and looked at him, a depleted expression in her eyes. “I don’t even know where to begin,” she whispered. “It’s all been so awful.”
Resting his clasped hands against his jaw, he gave her a small smile. “Then why don’t you just start talking and we’ll see where it takes us.”
She managed a smile, then she pushed her plate away and began folding and refolding her napkin. “It was more than just a drug problem,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sensing that she was preparing herself for the telling, he waited, his gaze locked on her face. Finally she drew in a deep shaky breath and straightened, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I didn’t find out until months after he died just how bad it was.” She turned her head toward the window, her profile stark against the bright light. “I didn’t find out until then that he had a serious gambling problem as well—a very serious gambling problem. I knew he gambled, but I really thought it was strictly recreational.” She finally looked at Conner, her gaze bleak. “He owed hundreds of thousands of dollars. And when the people started calling his loans, I couldn’t believe it at first. He had borrowed from everyone. His teammates, his friends, the kids’ educational funds. I found records for all those personal loans in his safety deposit box. I used all our savings and his insurance money to pay off his friends, and I thought I had it under control.”
She clutched her arms tighter, then tipped her head back, staring at the ceiling. “Then I started getting calls from a string of his bookies. And there was another huge loan from a loan company in the States— I found out later he’d borrowed that to pay off another huge drug and gambling debt.” She closed her eyes, the muscles in her jaw working; then she let out another sigh and looked at him. “To make a long story short,” she said, her voice devoid of any emotion, “I had to remortgage the house, and I sold off every piece of art we had, my jewelry, his cars—anything and everything that had any kind of value.” She held up her naked left hand. “Even my rings. But I got the bookies all paid off, and I had to cut a deal with the loan company for me to pay them back. Everything was gone—the equity in the house, all our investments…everything. Thank God the kids’ school tuition is covered by a trust fund from my parents’ estate, or I would have had to pull them out.”
As if everything was crowding in on her, she got up and went over to the patio doors and stood staring out, her arms still clutched in front of her. She didn’t say anything for a moment, then spoke, her voice barely audible. “I had managed to pay back most of the last loan, except there’s still twenty thousand dollars owing. I knew, given time, I’d get it paid off. Then I lost my job. The company I work for was part of a merger, and my position was eliminated. I got a decent severance package, but that was it. Kaput.” She lifted one shoulder in a small, defeated shrug. “When the loan company found out, they called their note.” She turned and faced him, giving him a wan smile. “Of course I couldn’t pay it, so now they’ve threatened to take me to court.” Her face ashen and her hands visibly trembling, she came back over to the table and sat down, not a trace of animation in her. She clasped her hands together on the table, rubbing one thumb against the other. Her attempt at a smile failed. “It’s been a bit of a bitch, Conner.”
He had forced himself to remain disengaged during her telling—not allowing any kind of feeling to surface. But now, as she sat there, her animation gone, the vibrancy beat right out of her, he experienced a rush of rage. She was out of a job, just about out of money, and her once-perfect life was a total mess. He wanted to kill somebody.
She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, and Conner could see tears gathering in her lashes. Her despair cut him to the quick. And something gave way inside him. He had only ever initiated touching her twice before—once when he’d kissed Scotty’s bride after the wedding. And then the night Scotty had died, when he’d pulled her onto his lap like a small wounded child, and held her as she wept for their awful loss. That time had been about offering comfort, and nothing more. This time, though, would be about something entirely different.
Knowing he was stepping across a very dangerous line, and sharply aware of how hard his heart was pounding in his chest, he reached across the table and grasped her cold, thin hands between his. The feel of her was almost enough. Almost.
His heart lumbering, he tightened his hold, rubbing her hands between his, trying to infuse her with his warmth. Then he drew in a deep, uneven breath and spoke, his voice very gruff. “You could have called me, Abby,” he said quietly.
She opened her eyes, tears catching in her long lashes. “I couldn’t,” she whispered. “You had lost him, too. I couldn’t dump this in your lap.”
Holding her gaze, he managed
