The Danforths: Toby, Lea and Adam: Cowboy Crescendo / Steamy Savannah Nights / The Enemy's Daughter

Heather let her breath out slowly and took a chance on a stranger’s seemingly benevolent curiosity.

“As a matter of fact, I think I did just see a ghost—if that’s what you’d call it.”

Seeing no sign of derision in Michael’s manner, she continued haltingly.

“She was a young woman. Dark but not particularly menacing. And she was intent on delivering a message to me.”

Michael leaned forward. “What message?”

Bolstered by the intensity of his interest, Heather described the strange clothing the woman was wearing and relayed her message word for word.

“I can’t exactly say that I saw her speak those words, but I distinctly heard each one conveyed loudly and clearly in my mind. It’s the second time I’ve seen her,” she admitted. “First from a distance standing beneath a huge tree on the outskirts of Crofthaven, and right here at Twin Oaks not ten minutes ago.”

“Miss Carlisle,” he declared without hesitation.

It was Heather’s turn to look startled.

“You know her?”

“Not exactly,” Michael assured her with a crooked smile. “But the woman you described sounds exactly like the same mysterious lady who accosted me a few days ago asking me for directions to Crofthaven. I was several miles away from there at the time. After pointing her in the right direction, I thought I heard her mutter the single word father before she simply faded away.”

Since Heather discerned neither malice nor ridicule in his words, she asked him to elaborate. The circumstances and settings of the appearances were sharply different, but the details regarding the specter herself were chillingly similar—right down to the gold locket worn on a chain about the ghost’s long, white neck.

Giving her a reassuring hug, Michael apologized for having pressing business that he had to attend to.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” he asked before he excused himself.

Heather gave him a wobbly smile. “I’ll be just fine as soon as I get some fresh air to clear my head.”

Toby was sorry Heather had run off before he’d been able to catch up with the reporter who made the mistake of interrupting the most romantic moment of his life. Undoubtedly she would have enjoyed seeing him grab the man by the strap around his neck and rip the film from his camera.

“Get lost, you disgusting little parasite,” Toby told him before giving the fellow a kick in the pants for good measure as he slunk away into the shadows muttering about inquiring minds having “the right to know.”

By the time Toby turned around to assure Heather that she need not worry about appearing in print any time soon, she was long gone, leaving him to search the crowd, all the while cursing the notoriety of the Danforth name.

He was unprepared for the surge of jealousy that exploded in his heart and flowed like molten lava through his veins at the sight of Heather enveloped in another man’s arms. That Michael Whittaker looked nothing like wimpy Freddie Prowell did little to dampen the urge to ram a fist right through the other man’s dark, handsome face. Toby had heard rumors that the man was ruthless, but he hadn’t thought that reputation extended to the opposite sex. Years of hard physical labor outside a fancy gym would more than make up for the difference in their size. Toby might not be as big as his uncle’s bodyguard, but he damn sure was a match for anybody when his testosterone kicked in.

He was just about to take his tuxedo jacket off and roll up his shirtsleeves when Michael Whittaker saved him the trouble by abruptly leaving. Heather wandered off in the opposite direction. Toby was familiar enough with Twin Oaks to know that a secluded terrace lay outside the very door through which she left. Perhaps it had been an innocent embrace explainable by any number of simple circumstances, he thought.

He curbed his impulse to make a scene. If Heather had been so distraught by the thought of their kiss gracing the pages of some sleazy tabloid, he imagined photographs of him involved in fisticuffs over her wouldn’t set well with her, either. Nor with the rest of the Danforth clan for that matter.

Toby had no desire to ruin Uncle Abe’s big night any more than he wanted to probe the intense feelings that his son’s nanny evoked in him. Having openly professed to be done with women forever, he couldn’t understand his own volatile reaction to seeing Heather with someone else, especially considering what a short time he had known her. Envy wasn’t something that often came calling on Toby. His ex-wife bitterly claimed he didn’t have a jealous bone in his body. Sheila’s outrageous attempts to goad him into a green-eyed fit, intended to affirm her desirability more often than not, left her looking foolish in public and incensed in private.

Even now, news of Sheila’s involvement with an international playboy only made him thankful that he and Dylan had escaped her exploits relatively unscathed. Unscathed, that is, if one didn’t count his little boy losing his speech and his heart.

As desperately as Toby wanted to believe that it was merely gratitude he felt for Heather for helping his son, the kiss they shared beneath the fireworks shattered that illusion once and for all.

What had he done by initiating such a kiss?

Toby no more wanted a long-term relationship with a woman than he wanted to be tied to a life of leisure in Savannah. And yet the likelihood of being able to ignore his feelings for Heather once they returned to Wyoming was slim to none. Going back to a look-but-don’t-touch relationship would tax all his powers of self-control. Hell, he’d nearly taken both Freddie and Michael’s heads off this evening for just having the audacity to talk to Heather, dance with her and hold her momentarily in their arms. Considering that he prided himself on being levelheaded and generally unruffled, it didn’t bode well for his willpower.

He and Heather definitely needed to talk. The relative privacy of the terrace where she had retreated was as good as any place to initiate a conversation that was bound to be awkward at best—a conversation that could well pry the lid off Pandora’s box. Toby wavered.

“There you are!”

Marcie Mae’s voice rang out over the growing din in the room. Grabbing him by the arm, she tugged him in the opposite direction of the terrace demanding nothing less from him than his undivided attention.

“Thank you,” Toby said.

“For what?” she wanted to know.

“For saving me from myself,” was his enigmatic reply.

For the duration of their conversation, Toby kept an eye turned toward the dark doorway where Heather presumably sat in silence alone.

Taking up residence in a dimly lit corner, Heather did her best to work the ghost-induced chill from her bones. She wished she had thought to bring a shawl, but considering the time of year and the humid climate of the location, she hadn’t dreamed one might be necessary. The ornate bench on which she sat was as cold to the touch as her encounter with the ghostly apparition. Heather had read that pockets of chilly air often announced that an unearthly creature was present, but never had she imagined the lingering effects of such an icy encounter upon her own human body. She longed to slip into a tub of steaming water and wash the whole experience down the drain before snuggling under the beautiful antique comforter on the bed that awaited her back at Harold and Miranda’s home.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude, but you bear a striking resemblance to someone I used to know.”

The unexpected comment startled Heather from her reverie. Assuming the remark was directed at her, she looked to find the guest of honor himself, Abraham Danforth, had wandered upon her solitude. He was easily recognizable from the publicity posters scattered throughout the gala.

But he was not talking to her.

“Would her name happen to be Lan Nguyen?” asked a distinctly feminine voice.

The woman who stepped out of the shadows was diminutive in stature, no taller than five feet four inches in heels. Her dark hair glistened in the moonlight. Heather knew who Abraham was, but the woman was a complete stranger to her. Neither of them seemed to know Heather was there.

“Yes. Yes, it was,” the older man responded. “How did you know?”

“Because I’m her daughter, Lea. Your daughter, Mr. Danforth. The child you abandoned in Vietnam.”

Heather gasped silently. She hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, and she wished there was some way to leave without interrupting. As it was, she hoped she wouldn’t be called upon to administer the Heimlich maneuver upon poor Abraham. For once, the silver- tongued orator was at a loss for words.

Heather looked furtively around. She wondered if any reporters were within earshot. Or if one was perhaps setting Abraham Danforth up? Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Michael Whittaker slipping onto the terrace from a hidden door. She hoped she hadn’t misplaced her trust in the man. When he motioned for her to remain quiet, she gladly deferred to his silent request.

Since Abraham hadn’t bothered to dispute the claim, Heather wondered if the exotic beauty might not be speaking the truth. All this talk about fathers and their estranged children stirred up feelings in Heather that she was working hard to put behind her. Guests appeared to be conspiring with ghosts, breathing fire into Heather’s ever present sense of guilt. As bitter as her relationship with her father had grown over the past couple of years, Heather couldn’t imagine the courage it would take to walk up to a perfect stranger and introduce herself as his daughter. James Burroughs might have played the absentee patriarch for years and been a stern taskmaster, but Heather could nonetheless take comfort in knowing of whose flesh and blood she was conceived. She imagined life for abandoned Amerasian children must be incredibly difficult. How justifiably angry this young woman must be if she believed her accusations to be true.

Heather wondered how Abraham would ever explain to his grown children that they had a half sister. Or to the press, for that matter. Could his political aspirations survive such a shocking revelation?

When Abraham spoke again, his voice sounded like it was being dragged through broken glass. “Lan… survived? She survived the attack on her village? I thought she was dead. I—”

Lea didn’t let him finish. “My mother is dead now.”

Despite the defiant tone of her voice, she swayed on her feet. Michael Whittaker stepped out of seemingly nowhere to catch her when she fainted. Heather heard him mumble something softly in her ear before Abraham Danforth regained his composure and took control of the situation.

“Take her home, Michael,” he said, sounding sincerely concerned. “Stay with her until I contact you. Until we can sort this out.”

Heather couldn’t imagine when that would be. Michael had mentioned that he was a security consultant. She hadn’t guessed that he was actually Abraham Danforth’s personal bodyguard. There was only one thing she knew for certain as the man of the hour visibly struggled to tamp down his emotions. By the time he was ready to return to the fund-raiser, he was composed again. The woman who introduced herself only as Lea was in good hands for the moment.

Before leaving, Heather gave Michael her tacit promise to keep what she had witnessed to herself, as he handed over the care of his client to the rest of his security team. She saw no reason to drop such a bombshell on Toby. He had plenty to deal with already and would likely be suspicious of such a disclosure as nothing more than unwarranted gossip. Abraham Danforth was a big boy, and Heather assumed he could handle his personal life without any interference from his nephew’s hired help. It certainly wasn’t her place to make such an announcement.

Besides, blabbing about the incident she had inadvertently witnessed would likely only prolong their stay in Savannah. As opulent as Savannah was, Heather longed for the solitude of the Double D—and the opportunity to explore her feelings for Toby far, far away from prying eyes, nosy reporters and well-meaning but intrusive relatives.

Eight

The scene Heather witnessed between Abraham Danforth and the woman claiming to be his illegitimate daughter strengthened her resolve to never let herself be used by a man again. Just as Josef had manipulated her for his own selfish purposes, Toby’s uncle had apparently left at least one brokenhearted lover behind with nothing but an innocent baby to remind her of their time together. Heather was sure that the young woman’s mother had suffered public and private humiliation while Abraham Danforth had gone merrily about the business of rebuilding his life and his empire.

Studying Dylan curled up in his daddy’s lap as their chauffeur drove them to the private local airfield where Abraham Danforth’s personal jet awaited their return trip home, Heather realized that wasn’t entirely fair. Some women didn’t accept responsibility any better than some men. It sounded as if Toby’s ex-wife fit into that category. Not knowing the details of their divorce, she thought it wise to refrain from making any judgments on the matter.

Still, looking at Dylan’s sweet little face, she couldn’t help but harden her heart toward a woman who for all intents and purposes abandoned her own child—and a family that despite their notoriety had been nothing but kind and accepting of Heather herself. She hadn’t heard anyone utter a solitary negative comment about Dylan’s mother. As much as Heather had wanted to categorize the Danforths as superior snobs, she genuinely liked Toby’s family.

The day after the fund-raiser, Toby’s brother Jacob, his parents, his sister Imogene and Dylan’s young cousin Peter had said a heartfelt goodbye back at his parents’ house.

“Why do ya hafta leave so soon?” Peter had demanded.

Resting a reassuring hand upon the boy’s soft hair, Heather waited to hear Toby’s response as well.

“Even though I grew up here and I love my family very much, home for me is under the wide open Wyoming sky. Some people march to the beat of a different drum, Peter, and I just happen to be one of them. With any luck, you’ll grow into the same kind of freethinker. And when the time comes, I hope your father will have enough integrity to let you go wherever your heart leads you—just like my parents did.”

Heather couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have the kind of unconditional support that Toby took as his due. If she had been able to choose her own parents, she likely would have picked Harold and Miranda Danforth. True to her word, Toby’s mother had never once made her feel a servant in their home. In fact, Heather felt more at ease in their presence than she ever had in her own home.

She swallowed against the obstruction in her throat.

Heather supposed all families had their problems. Looking at Harold and Miranda, one would never guess that tragedy marred what appeared to be their perfect life. In a private moment, Toby’s sister, who insisted that Heather call her Genie like the rest of her friends, explained how their youngest sister Victoria had been kidnapped several years ago. Despite years of cold leads and discouraging statistical evidence to the contrary, the family never gave up hope that Victoria Danforth would someday return home. Given those heartbreaking circumstances, Heather didn’t know how Toby’s parents were able to let him out of their sight.

Thousands of miles out of sight.

A bump in the road and a flash of black alpaca tore Heather from her present-day contemplations to the sight of a woman keening beneath the big oak tree. Heather’s heartbeat slammed into a wall as their gazes collided. Time and distance dissolved as those black eyes bore into her. There was no mistaking the same specter that accosted her in the dark hallways of Twin Oaks. Nor could Heather ever forget the chilling edict she issued from the grave.

“You found your way back,” she mused, recalling her conversation with Michael Whittaker.

“I like to think that I always will,” Toby rejoined.

Heather didn’t bother explaining that her comment hadn’t been intended for him. She pointed out the window and, with an urgency that caught him off guard, said, “Tell me what you see over there.”

He sighed before responding.

“My past.”

The mysterious figure was gone.

With Dylan peacefully dozing, it seemed as good a time as any to ask Toby what he knew about the family ghost. He looked surprised when she broached the subject but did not disregard her inquiry out of hand.

“Stories have circulated for years about the spirit of a young woman hired as a governess to Hiram Danforth’s children shortly after he built his mansion in the 1890s. All that’s really known about her is that her name was Miss Carlisle and she was tragically killed on her way to Crofthaven when the carriage overturned in the dark just before she arrived.”

Toby paused to gauge Heather’s reaction before continuing. He reached out to take both her hands in his and found them to be the temperature of ice.

“She’s supposedly buried beneath that big oak tree over there.”

The blood drained from Heather’s face. She didn’t need to check any archives to know he was telling her the truth. It settled in her bones with a chill. She felt a connection between herself and the governess. Miss Carlisle had deliberately sought her out to offer advice as one caregiver to another. Whether one called herself a governess or a nanny made no difference.

“She spoke to me,” Heather said in a small voice.

Toby offered her the warmth of his embrace, and she accepted it as eagerly as one shivering from the cold would wrap herself in a blanket. She was only vaguely aware of the fact that they had left the grounds of the Crofthaven estate.

“Do you think she might be trying to take possession of my body?”

Feeling her tremble, Toby gave her a comforting smile. His siblings and cousins used to scare the willies out of him with tales of the mysterious Miss Carlisle, and he didn’t want to make light of the question. Nor did he want her to worry needlessly.

“From everything I’ve ever heard or read, she’s a benevolent spirit who never travels too far from Crofthaven.”

“Thank you for not thinking I’m crazy,” Heather whispered in his ear before settling her head against his broad shoulder.

The rest of the trip to the airfield was uneventful. Savannah invited one to settle back and enjoy the verdant views. Heather couldn’t help but contrast the lush vegetation to the drought conditions the West was experiencing. Here seeds needed only to be deposited by a gentle wind to take root and thrive in fertile soil. Back home, farmers had to work hard to scratch out a living from earth alternately baked, then frozen by elements that drove off all but the hardiest—and most persistent—individualists. Heather’s father looked down his nose at those earning a living by the sweat of their brow, claiming that farming in the state of Wyoming was fundamentally a ceremonial occupation.

Toby reached across the seat to take Heather’s hand into his own, sending an all-too-familiar frisson vibrating through her body. The goose bumps Miss Carlisle raised along her arms a moment ago disappeared as warmth washed over her in an equally disconcerting fashion. Heather took a moment to study the hand that enveloped hers. Strong yet gentle and marked by manual labor, Toby’s hands did not look like those of a gentleman rancher whom her father might possibly approve. James Burroughs could probably forgive her daughter’s employer his rough hands and individualistic mind- set in exchange for a taste of Danforth name recognition and social prominence.

As much as Heather wanted children someday, she was grateful that Josef had not left her with a baby to raise alone—like Abraham Danforth apparently had done to some poor woman half a world away. Heather would have had little choice but to remain dependent upon her parents’ charity to make ends meet. And such charity on their behalf would undoubtedly come with shackles, rather than strings attached.

She looked up into a pair of eyes as blue as the sky that was to carry them home. Unspoken promise glittered in the depth of those eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. Was it possible that not all men were like Josef or her father?

“We should talk,” Toby said.

Heather wondered how he had read her mind. His voice was a caress. It may as well have been her heart and not her hand that Toby squeezed so reassuringly. The very tenderness of his demeanor was her undoing. She hadn’t slept the night of the fund- raiser, wondering if he would ask her to resign her position. Now, remembering how she had responded so wantonly to his advances, she wondered if he might propose a more carnal relationship that had nothing to do with her job at all.

Heather reminded herself to proceed with caution. Experience taught her that one’s personal dignity is a precious commodity. As such, it shouldn’t be gambled away recklessly. The repercussions were often more insidious than one might first imagine.

She was curious to see how Toby’s uncle Abraham was going to handle the scandal to which she was privy. As with the question of where her relationship with Toby was headed, she knew it was only a matter of time before things came to a head.

“Talk?” she repeated dully. “About what?” Her voice sounded scratchy. Raw.

“About us.”

As much as Heather appreciated Toby’s candor, she was surprisingly grateful to see the airfield come into view. It was an unusual way to cure her fear of flying.

“Couldn’t it wait until we’re on board and Dylan’s asleep?”

“I suppose that would be wise,” Toby conceded with a sigh.

Heather couldn’t know that he was thinking back to all the discussions that Sheila postponed, always promising that things would get better without ever really hashing through the tough issues. She heard only the resignation in Toby’s voice and assumed that the conversation he wanted to broach was not going to be pleasant. If it would make things easier on him, she could always quit.

Even if it meant giving up a job and a family she was coming to love.

Farewells in Heather’s family were brief and dispassionate. The contrast between what she was used to and the tearful goodbyes Toby’s relatives exchanged before they were allowed to board Abraham Danforth’s private jet were startling. Ever vigilant about not intruding upon Toby and Dylan’s private lives, Heather hastened to board in advance lest she be in anyone’s way.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Miranda asked.

The hurt in her voice stunned Heather.

“I thought I’d give you some space to yourself,” she explained. Her own tone was conciliatory.

“I thought you understood that we consider you part of the family now.” That said, Miranda took Heather by the elbow and guided her into the circle of Danforths.

Genie piped up with characteristic optimism. “I hope my brother has enough sense to make it official before your next visit to Savannah.”

Presuming that “it” referred to a most unlikely wedding, Heather blushed so furiously that she would not have been surprised had her blond hair turned the color of strawberry wine. She did not miss the killing glance that Toby leveled at his sister. Shrugging it off with typical aplomb, Genie whispered something confidential in his ear.

“Don’t hold your breath, little sister,” Toby muttered.

The smile on Heather’s face faded. Although she could only imagine what transpired between them, she assumed herself to be the butt of an unflattering remark. Miranda patted her on the arm.

“Don’t mind them, dear. No matter how many times their mother has told them that it’s impolite to whisper in front of others, they persist in misbehaving. You can imagine how I earned all this gray hair raising such headstrong children.”

Heather could see little gray in Miranda Danforth’s hair. She was truly a beautiful woman. Both inside and out. Indeed, her own mother made her feel more an outsider in her own home than Miranda had a guest—and a servant at that.