Expecting A Scandal. Joanne RockЧитать онлайн книгу.
A few days later, Abigail wondered if it had been presumptuous of her to accept Vaughn’s offer to search for pieces of fallen wood on his ranch outside of town. Driving out of downtown toward the address Vaughn had given her, she knew it was too late to turn back now. She did really want the chance to walk through the trees and find inspiration, along with some different kinds of boughs for the oversize statue she was creating for Royal Memorial. That much was true.
But there was no denying her interest in the lone wolf doctor who so fascinated her.
When she’d texted her request for when she’d like to come to his property, the response had been almost immediate, making her wonder if he was just that prompt. Or if he’d been thinking about her, too. She was intrigued to see him again even though she knew she needed to tell him about her pregnancy.
Now, turning down the road that passed the Ace in the Hole Ranch, where she used to work for the man she’d believed to be Will Sanders, she couldn’t stop the flood of memories. The main house was massive, with a deep front porch and multiple rooflines, plus an open breezeway connecting to a guest cottage. The crisp, white-painted home and dark shutters were immaculate, the trimmed hedges in perfect alignment. In the years she’d lived in Royal, she’d never seen the rolling lawn allowed to grow a millimeter too long. At night, it was really something to behold, with the many windows lit from within, and landscape lighting that illuminated the prettiest features.
Working at the Ace in the Hole had been rewarding if only to step onto that gorgeous property every day for a few weeks last winter. Her actual duties had been straightforward enough—organizing files and transferring them to more secure storage for Will.
Or, more accurately, the man who’d been impersonating Will Sanders, his former friend, Richard Lowell. Not many people in Royal knew that Will Sanders had returned to town to crash his own funeral. The FBI was now involved in the quiet investigation since they hoped that they might lure Rich Lowell back. Abigail knew about it because she’d received a letter from an attorney asking her to attend the funeral, since she was named as one of Will’s heirs. She’d nearly fainted when Will walked into the service himself.
None of that changed the fact that she’d had a one-night stand with the man who’d impersonated Will.
And now, she needed to let Vaughn know about the pregnancy. She was trying to move beyond the anger and frustration surrounding the father of her baby. She still worried about what she would tell her child about his or her daddy down the road. That he was a felon? A sociopath? Guilty of more crimes than she even knew about?
Shuddering, she touched her belly protectively and felt an answering flutter. The shifting movements of this life inside never failed to amaze her since she’d started noticing it in the last few weeks. Amid so much grief this past year, those signs of vibrant renewal felt like the most precious gift in the world.
Pulling up to the gates of Vaughn’s property, some of those happy feelings faded, however. The gates were huge. Imposing.
And the most definitely ensured privacy.
She knew many doctors earned a good living, but an electric gate with wrought-iron scrollwork outlining the house number suggested a whole different level of wealth. The arched entrance was a good ten feet tall on the sides, swooping up to fifteen at the peak of the arch. She pressed the call button on the keypad and Vaughn’s voice answered as the gate mechanism whirred softly, pulling open to the paved road that must lead to his home.
“Glad you found the place, Abigail,” he said, through the speaker on the security system. “You can park in front of the house and I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Her voice sounded flat. Because she was intimidated? Or because she’d hoped to find Vaughn living somewhere more...accessible?
She knew it wasn’t fair to hold it against him that he’d done well in life. But after seeing how Will Sanders’s money had corrupted someone into impersonating him, she sure didn’t take any pleasure from the wealthy trappings that other people might find appealing.
Rounding a bend surrounded by live oaks, Abigail had to admire the old growth buffering the home from the roadway. There were walnut and maple trees, ash and pecan.
And then, there he was.
Vaughn Chambers stood out in front of his ranch home built of sandstone, the dusky browns and tans of the rock walls blending with the hills and trees so seamlessly it looked like a part of the landscape. A planked porch wrapped around two sides, with the main roofline continuing down to the porch, a trick of building that provided plenty of shade to homes in the summertime. The darker roof and wooden porch columns set off the lighter stone. Three dormers graced the main roof, giving the house a modest-sized second floor and a huge footprint on the main level. A detached garage with huge, dark wood doors looked big enough to hold a monster truck. Or, more likely, multiple vehicles.
The house was lovely, and couldn’t be more different from the manicured beauty of the Ace in the Hole. Vaughn’s home had a rustic, natural appeal.
As for the man himself, her breath caught to see him again. The short beard and moustache appeared freshly trimmed today. His thick brown hair was darker and spiky from a recent shower. He wore a gray T-shirt with jeans and boots that looked like they’d seen real work. A golden retriever sat at his feet, its long fur brushed and gleaming in the July sunlight.
“What a beautiful dog!” She was grateful for the animal, a welcome topic of conversation to hide her nervousness.
“This is Ruby.” He scratched his canine behind the ears, the affection in his voice obvious. “Ruby, meet Abigail.”
“May I pet her?” She liked to ask first even though the dog appeared well-trained. Her sister had once startled a stray in her eagerness to pet it when they were kids, and she had a scar on her leg from the bite for the rest of her too-short life.
How daunting that a hundred and one things every day still made her think of Alannah. Her chest went tight with the familiar squeeze of sorrow.
“Sure. She’s a social dog and she likes a good scratch on the haunches.”
Bending closer to Ruby, Abigail stroked the silky fur. Her knee brushed up against the animal’s collar as she patted one side of her back, the movement jingling the silver tags. One had her name engraved on it and, she guessed, Vaughn’s contact information on the other side. It was the second tag that caught her eye for the red caduceus and the Service Dog—Full Access notation.
Vaughn had a service dog?
She knew it was rude to ask about it, a working-dog etiquette tip she’d picked up from her friend Natalie St. Cloud, who owned the Cimarron Rose B and B in Royal, where Abigail occasionally stopped for a meal. Natalie had an autistic son who had a service dog, another golden retriever, and the animal had made a world of difference in their lives.
Straightening from petting the dog, Abigail swallowed the questions pinwheeling through her brain. If Vaughn had noticed her reading his dog’s tags, he didn’t indicate it. He gave the dog the command to “free play,” and Ruby sprinted over to a pair of weathered gray barns on the side of the house near a large, fenced pasture.
“I’m glad you’re here.” He turned toward her again. “I regret the way I left in a hurry on Wednesday.”
The hint of hunger in his green eyes made her feel things for him she shouldn’t. She really needed to tell him about her pregnancy. End this heart-fluttering tension between them and focus on her work and her baby.
“It was kind of you to make the time to stop by personally in the first place.” She took a deep breath, prepared to tell him the truth.
“Would you prefer the walking tour or a horseback version?” he asked and gestured toward the barn before she could get the words out.
She