Нора Робертс - Midnight Bayou

"And who might this be?" She lifted one hand, languidly pushed back her hair as she sent Declan a slow, feline smile.

"What's she doing here?" Lena demanded. "What the hell is she doing in this house?”

"It's my house as much as yours," Lilibeth shot back. "Some of us have more respect for blood kin than others.”

"I told you to get on a bus and go.”

"I don't take orders from my own daughter." Lilibeth pushed off the jamb, sauntered to the stove. "This here coffee fresh, Mama?”

"How could you?" Lena demanded of Odette. "How could you take her in again?”

"Lena." All Odette could do was take her hand. "She's my child.”

"I'm your child." The bitter fury poured out and left its horrid taste on her tongue. "You're just going to let her come back, stay until she's sucked you dry again, until she and whatever junkie she hooks up with this time steal you blind? It's cocaine now. Can't you see it on her? And that doesn't come free.”

"I told you I'm clean." Lilibeth slapped a mug on the counter.

"You're a liar. You've always been a liar.”

Lilibeth surged forward. Even as Lena threw out her chin to take the blow, Declan stepped between them. "Think again." He said it quietly, but the heat in his voice pumped into the kitchen.

"You lay a hand on her, Lilibeth, one hand on her, and I'll put you out." Odette stepped to the stove, poured the coffee herself with hands not quite steady. "I mean that.”

"She's got no call to speak to me that way." Lilibeth let her lips quiver. "And in front of a stranger.”

"Declan Fitzgerald. I'm a friend of Lena's, and Miss Odette's. I'll get that coffee, Miss Odette. You sit down now.”

"This is family business, Declan." Lena kept her furious eyes on her mother's face. She would think of the embarrassment later. Right now it was only a dull pinch through the cushion of anger. "You should go.”

"In a minute." He poured coffee, brought a cup to Odette. Crouched so their faces were level. "I'm Irish," he told her. "Both sides. Nobody puts on a family fight like the Irish. You only have to call me if you need me.”

He squeezed her hand, then straightened. "Same goes," he said to Lena.

"I'm not staying. I'll drive you back." She had to breathe deeply, to brace for the pain her own words would cause. "Grandmama, I love you with all my heart. But as long as she's in the house, I won't be. I'm sorry this hurts you, but I can't do this again. Let me know when she's gone. And you." She turned to Lilibeth. "You hurt her again, you take one dollar from her or bring any of the scum you like to run with in this house, I'll hunt you down. I swear to God I will, wherever you go. And I'll take it out of your skin this time.”

"Lena baby!" Lilibeth rushed down the narrow hall as Lena strode to the door. "I've changed, honey. I want to make it all up to you. Give me a chance to-was Outside, Lena whirled. "You've had your last chance with me. Don't you come near me. Don't you come near my place. You're dead to me, you hear?”

She slammed the car door, ground the engine to life, then sped off, spewing up a thin cloud of smoke that obscured her mother and the house where she'd grown up.

"Well, that was fun, wasn't it?" Lena punched the gas. "I bet your family would just love a load of Lilibeth Simone. Whore, junkie, thief and liar.”

"You can't blame your grandmother for this, Lena.”

"I don't blame her. I don't." The tears were rushing up from her throat. She felt the burn. "But I won't be a part of it. I won't." She slammed the brakes in front of the Hall. "I need to go now." But she lowered her brow to the wheel. "Go on, get out. Va t'en.”

"No. I'm not going away." Others had, he realized now. And that's where the hurt came from. "Do you want to talk about this out here, or inside?”

"I'm not going to talk about it anywhere.”

"Yes, you are. Pick your spot.”

"I told you all you need to know. My mother's a whore and a junkie. If she can't earn enough to feed her various habits on her back, she steals. She'd as soon lie as look at you.”

"She doesn't live around here.”

"I don't know where she lives. No place for long. She came to my place yesterday. Stoned, and full of lies and her usual talk about new starts and being friends. Thought I'd let her move in with me again. Never again," she said and leaned her head back on the car seat. "I gave her fifty dollars for bus fare. Should've known better. Likely it's already gone up her nose.”

"Let's take a walk.”

"This isn't something you walk off or kiss better, Declan. I need to get back.”

"You're not driving into town when you're still churned up. Let's walk.”

To ensure she didn't just drive away when he got out, he took the keys out of the ignition, pocketed them. Then he climbed out, walked around the car. Opening her door, he held out a hand.

She couldn't drum up the energy to argue. But instead of taking his hand, she slid out of the car and dipped hers in her pockets.

They'd walk, she figured. They'd talk. And then, it would be over.

She imagined he thought his gardens-that new blossoming, the tender fragrances– –would soothe her. He would want to comfort. He was built that way. More, he'd want to know so he could find solutions.

When it came to Lilibeth, there were no solutions.

"Family can suck, can't it?"

Her gaze whipped to his-dark and fierce, and sheened with damp. "She's not my family.”

"I get that. But it's a family situation. We're always having situations in my family. Probably because there are so many of us.”

"Not having enough canapis at a cocktail party, or having two aunts show up in the same fancy dress isn't a situation.”

He debated whether to let the insult pass. She was, after all, raw and prickly. But he couldn't quite swallow it. "You figure having money negates personal problems? Takes the sting out of hurts, buries tragedies? That's pretty shallow, Lena.”

"I'm a shallow gal. Comes through the blood.”

"That's bullshit, but you're entitled to feel sorry for yourself after almost taking a slap in the face. Money didn't make my cousin Angie feel much better when her husband got her and his mistress pregnant the same month. It didn't help my aunt when her daughter died in a car wreck on her eighteenth birthday. Life can fuck you over, whatever your income bracket.”

She stopped, ordered herself to calm down. "I apologize. She tends to put me in a mood that's not fit for company.”

"I'm not company." Before she could evade, he cupped her face in his hands. "I love you.”

"Stop it, Declan.”

"I can't.”

"I'm no good for you. No good for anybody, and I don't want to be.”

"That's the key, isn't it?”

"Yeah.”

He reached down, lifted the key she wore around her neck. "It wasn't a man, but a woman who broke your heart. Now you want to lock it up, close it off so you won't accept love when it's offered. Won't let yourself give it back. Safer that way. If you don't love, it doesn't matter if someone walks away. That makes you a coward.”

"So what if it does?" She shoved his hand aside. "It's my life. I live it the way I want, and I get along fine. You're a romantic, cher. Under all that Yankee sense, that expensive education, you're a dreamer. I don't put stock in dreams. What is, that's what counts. One of these days you're going to wake up and find yourself in this big, old house in the middle of nowhere, wondering what the hell you were thinking. And you'll hightail it back to Boston, go back to lawyering, marry some classy woman named Alexandra, and have a couple pretty children.”

"You forgot the pair of golden retrievers," he said mildly.

"Oh." She threw up her hands. "Merde!”

"Couldn't agree more. First, the only woman I know named Alexandra has teeth like a horse. She sort of scares me. Second, and more important, what I'm going to do, Angelina, is live out my life in this big, old house, with you. I'm going to raise a family with you, right here. Golden retrievers are optional.”

"You saying it, over and over, isn't going to make it so.”

Now he grinned, white and wide. "Bet?”

There was something about him when he was like this, she realized. Something potent and just a little frightening when he wore that sheen of affability over a core of concrete stubbornness.

"I'm going to work. You just stay away from me for a while, you hear? I'm too irritated to deal with you.”

He let her walk away. It was enough, for now, that her anger with him had dried up those tears that had glimmered in her eyes.

Julian was drunk, as he preferred to be. He had a half-naked whore in his lap, and her heavy breast cupped in his hand. The old black man played a jumpy tune on the piano, and the sound mixed nicely in his head with wild female laughter.

Cigar smoke stung the air, giving him a low-level urge for tobacco. But he couldn't quite drum up the gumption for a cigar, or to haul the whore upstairs.

The fact that he was broke-again-didn't worry him overmuch. He patronized this brothel habitually, and always, eventually, scraped together the funds to pay his bill. His credit was good here, for the moment.

He'd selected the prostitute because she was blond and lush of build, vacant of brain. He could tell himself that later, when he rode her, he wouldn't see Abigail's face staring back up at him.

Not this time.

He took another swig of bourbon, then pinched the blond's nipple. She squealed and slapped playfully at his hand. He was grinning when Lucian walked in.