TWO
‘GOOD GRIEF, Matthew!’ Shay’s exclamation was instantaneous on seeing him. ‘What have you been doing to yourself?’ She looked askance at the sling supporting his immobile arm.
The awkwardness she had envisaged upon entering the Falconer house again was forgotten in her concern for Matthew. His wheelchair had moved silently across the hall carpet as he came to meet them in the entrance hall, Shay shocked to see how pale he was, almost as white as the bandage on his arm beneath the sling.
Matthew Falconer had been in a wheelchair when she had first been introduced to him six years before, an explanation for his incapacity never offered by any of his family, although she had heard from the office grapevine when she still worked for Lyon that Matthew had been injured in a skiing accident at the age of nineteen, his legs severely damaged, and had been in a wheelchair ever since.
She had also learnt, from experience, that Matthew’s inability to walk in no way detracted from his masculinity, or his ability to put a person in their place with a few well-directed words! After a few minutes of being in Matthew’s dynamic presence people tended to forget he was in a wheelchair, the electronically-operated machine having so many gadgets on it he could perform practically anything an able-bodied man could do—except, of course, walk.
‘Can’t you think of a better greeting than that after all this time, Gypsy?’ he drawled wryly, pain having etched lines into his handsome face over the years that shouldn’t really have been there on a man of only thirty-five.
Gypsy. It was a long time since she had heard that particular nickname, two long heart-breaking months! The three younger Falconer men had taken the space of one afternoon to come up with the name Gypsy for her; Lyon had instantly hated it, refusing to call her it. But Ricky had continued to use the name after they were married, and hearing it now brought tears to her eyes.
‘Matthew.’ She bent and kissed him warmly on one rigidly hard cheek.
He managed a tight-lipped smile. ‘You always were an affectionate little thing,’ he muttered. ‘Too affectionate on occasion.’ He shot a sly glance at the stone-faced Lyon.
She had forgotten Matthew’s cryptic, sometimes cruel, sense of humour, holding back her own smile with effort; one thing the Falconer men could never be attributed with was tact!
Matthew turned fully to his older brother. ‘The two of you came back alone?’
Shay turned in time to see Lyon’s warning look, instantly feeling a ripple of apprehension down the straightness of her spine. Lyon was displeased with his brother for asking the question, and she had a feeling she was the reason for his annoyance with Matthew.
‘Yes,’ he replied tersely, dismissively. ‘What happened to your arm, Matthew?’
The younger man shrugged. ‘The controls of this stupid machine went haywire for a while and I hit the ground,’ he told them with self-derision. ‘It’s nothing serious, just a sprain.’
‘You didn’t mention it when I telephoned yesterday,’ Lyon scowled.
‘I said it’s only a sprain,’ Matthew bit out tautly. ‘I’m in a wheelchair, Lyon, not senile! I don’t need you fussing over me like an old woman every time I accidently cut myself shaving!’ He looked at the older man challengingly.
Who would eventually have won the silent battle of wills Shay wasn’t sure; Lyon was obviously the stronger-willed of the two, but Matthew had his pride on his side. Even feeling the interloper, as she did, she couldn’t let the senseless battle go on.
‘Could I have a cup of tea, do you think?’ She cut across their tension. ‘I’m feeling a little weary.’ Her eyes hardened as she looked at Lyon. ‘I think you might be better having coffee,’ she told him with sarcasm. ‘A whole pot of it!’ she added before strolling through to what she knew was the main family lounge, the décor different from what she remembered, in green and cream now, but otherwise the room was just as elegantly comfortable as she remembered it.
Matthew was still chuckling as he followed her into her room. ‘Been drinking, has he?’ he mused.
‘Just a little,’ Shay drawled.
‘You always did have a strange effect on my big brother.’ He grinned his satisfaction with the fact.
‘I don’t care to be discussed as if I weren’t present.’ Lyon strode across the room to pour himself a glass of whisky from the cut-glass decanter.
‘Oh, we know you’re here,’ Matthew taunted. ‘But what about Neil?’
Lyon’s mouth compressed into a thin line as he turned and rang for the maid. ‘He’ll be back tomorrow,’ he supplied abruptly, turning to the young woman who entered the room so that he could order Shay’s tea.
Once again Shay had sensed Lyon’s reluctance to discuss Neil in front of her. ‘Is Neil away?’ she probed softly.
Matthew gave Lyon a censorious look. ‘You haven’t told her?’
‘Obviously not,’ he drawled. ‘For God’s sake, Matthew,’ he scowled belligerently. ‘It isn’t the sort of thing you just blurt out in the middle of a flight that Shay was already finding such a strain!’
‘Hell, Lyon, you’ve been in Los Angeles almost three weeks,’ Matthew criticised.
‘During which Shay flatly refused to see me,’ Lyon rasped harshly.
Shay felt no regret for that decision, had no desire to spend any more time in his company than she needed to. ‘Where is Neil?’ she asked tautly. ‘Has he been hurt in some way? God, he isn’t dead too …?’ She gasped as that horrific thought occurred to her.
‘No, of course he isn’t dead,’ Lyon snapped. ‘Your fertile imagination is running riot!’
‘Then why won’t you tell me where he is?’ she demanded impatiently. ‘Why all the secrecy?’
‘Because he’s in Los Angeles,’ Lyon muttered.
‘Los Angeles …? But—’ She broke off, a cold stillness slowly creeping over her, her hands clenching at her sides, the long lacquerless nails digging into her palms. She didn’t feel any pain from the wounds she was inflicting, knew another pain that far superseded it. ‘He’s running the Los Angeles office, isn’t he.’ It was a statement, not a question, the deep purple of her eyes her only show of emotion now.
‘Shay—’
‘Isn’t he?’ she directed the question at Lyon, ignoring Matthew’s attempt to reason with her. ‘Answer me, damn you!’
Tawny eyes darkened furiously at her dictatorial tone. ‘Yes, he is—’
‘You bastard!’ Her hand unclenched long enough to move up and slap him hard across one arrogant cheek, the white fingermarks she left livid against his tanned flesh as he remained immobile after the attack.
‘Shay!’
‘You replaced Ricky with him,’ she accused disgustedly, once again ignoring Matthew. ‘One brother is dead, never mind, I have two more I can send in his place!’ she said
