Once A Gambler. Carrie HudsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
his mouth onto her neck to explore the pulse throbbing there.
She willed herself to enjoy his kisses. But her mind was elsewhere. “Two days. That’s the anniversary.”
He sighed. “Who wouldn’t know that from just reading the papers?” Intent on his pursuit of her attention, he nibbled at her earlobe.
“But the trunk thing…how would he know—”
He paused long enough to tilt a “C’mon” look at her. “Just a wild stab…but, something that might be in a grandmother’s attic…?”
She slid her arms around his neck. Right, she thought. Dane Raleigh, the voice of reason. He was good for her. He was. Who else would put up with the emotional chaos of the past year?
She should just put aside all the doubts about him that had been cropping up lately like bad weeds. He was everything she’d ever wanted all wrapped up in a neat, gorgeous package. He wanted the same things she did: a home, a family—the whole deal. And the fact that he made the most of his engagement to her when he was doing press junkets really shouldn’t cancel out all the positives about him. He had good hair, an innate ability to accurately predict the stock market and—
“So,” he murmured, adjusting his attention to the plunging vee of her dress, “just try to relax, forget about him.”
—and…of course there was something else.
She closed her eyes, willing his mouth to wash all thought of that tall, badly dressed man out of her mind. Think about Dane’s mouth. Think about what his hands are doing to your breasts. Think about—
“Besides,” he added, dragging his palm up her thigh beneath her gown, “I’ve already called a real estate agent about your grandmother’s house. They’re gonna auction off what’s left inside and sell the place.” His mouth paused over hers. “It’s already been on the market for a week.”
She struggled to push him off her and sat bolt upright. “What?”
He rolled to his side, supporting himself on one elbow, looking wary. “Well, yeah. It’s time to put all that ugliness behind you, Ellie. Let it go.”
“Let it go? Who…who gave you the right to tell me when it’s time?” The ache in her temples came rushing back.
“Look, I knew this might upset you, but it’s for the best. Linea and I discussed it, and we thought it was a good idea. That place is like an anchor around your neck.”
“My mother? You went behind my back and—I can not believe you. My grandmother left that house in Deadwood to us. To Reese and me.”
“Damn, Ellie, calm down. You’ll get the money.”
She launched herself off the bed and paced to the closet and back. “This isn’t about the money. You know I don’t need money. And since when are you and Linea so damned chummy? I mean, it’s all I can do to get a monthly text message from her. And that’s usually about how perfect you are for me and how she can’t wait for our upcoming nuptials which, she assures me, she will try her very best to attend, barring any unforeseen movie parts that might interfere.” Her voice had risen a shrill two octaves, but she didn’t care.
Apparently amused by her outburst, Dane sat down on the corner of the bed and folded his arms across his chest. “We’re not chummy. I called her, is all. I thought selling the place would be good for you. For us.”
“You did? Really? Well, it’s not. It’s not good. I hate that you did this without even consulting me.” The swell of anger that gathered inside her was like a wave that wouldn’t stop rolling toward the shoreline. It had replaced the grief that had pushed her under for months after Reese’s mysterious disappearance from Grandma Lily’s attic, and it came up at times like this, irrational and a little wild. Talking about Reese as if she were merely an episode in Ellie’s past seemed like a betrayal. Assuming the worst about her sister made her furious.
He shrugged his shoulders. “You’re not…altogether rational about that house, Ellie. It’s just a house. A piece of real estate. It’s not going to bring your sister back.”
Right. She gathered up her evening bag and the four-inch heels she’d kicked off and hopped on one foot, slipping them back on. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe going to Deadwood won’t bring her back. But that house is mine and Reese’s now. And we get to say when we sell it. And I am going tomorrow.”
“Ellie—”
“And I’m taking the house off the market.”
“C’mon. You’re blowing this thing out of all—”
She opened the door and turned back to him. “And you can tell Linea that for me. When you and she have your next little chat, that is.”
“Ellie,” he called after her, but she was already gone.
2
IT TOOK ELLIE most of the next day to get to Deadwood, with plane changes, car rentals and having to use a detour through the Black Hills for the better part of an hour. When she finally pulled into her grandmother’s driveway it was dark. Really dark.
It seemed crazy that South Dakota and Los Angeles shared the same sky. Because this one had a vast, starry splatter of lights arching over it against a velvety black, the likes of which was never seen in California. Too many houses. Too many lights. And even if there weren’t, who ever looks up in L.A.?
The cold night air smelled impossibly sweet from the roses that hugged her grandmother’s house and from the distant tang of snow sliding down off the jagged mountains. Winter came early here and lasted forever. Hugging herself from the cold, she surrendered to her need for warmth and went inside.
The house smelled musty when she opened it. Ellie flipped on light switches, grateful she hadn’t turned the electricity off. It had been months since she’d been here last, and whoever was trying to sell it clearly hadn’t been here much, either. There were white cloths covering the furniture and someone had begun gathering things together in the living room, probably for the auctioneer. She triple locked the door and took a deep breath.
With a frown she dragged her suitcase up the stairs toward the bedroom she had always slept in. It was small, with faded striped wallpaper and the twin bed she’d slept on as a girl when they’d come to visit. Made of mahogany with little pinecone finials on top, the bed still bore the signature handmade quilt from their grandmother’s hand.
She sat down on the bed and ran her fingers across the patchwork fabric. It was soft and worn with time and love. It smelled like her grandmother in here. She dropped back and rubbed her cheek against the old cotton, feeling tears prick her eyes. As infrequently as they’d managed to see her, Grandma Lily had been a force in her life and Reese’s. The only person to see past the photo ops, the trust funds and the Hollywood hype of their lives. Here they were just themselves. Just girls no one knew. Here she and Reese would dream of their futures late at night with the lights out and share secrets they would tell no one else. Here they’d felt loved.
SHE AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING, still wearing the clothes from the night before. Light was pouring in through the undraped window and Ellie sat up, disoriented. God, she’d been exhausted. She didn’t even remember falling asleep.
Downstairs she made some coffee in the stove-top antique of a coffeemaker and took a mug with her as she climbed the squeaky stairs to the attic. Swallowing thickly, she opened the door at the top of the stairs and pushed the little button in to turn on the overhead light.
There was a window at the far end, in the eve, and piles of stuff her grandmother had hoarded up here. It was like a yearbook of her life. Little signatures of her friendships and triumphs, and a few of her failures. There was the wide bedstead she’d shared with the grandfather Ellie had never met. He’d died before she was born. There was an old crib and a bassinet, rocking chairs and hat racks. A pair of old wooden crutches and piles of National Geographic her grandmother