drift back to the morning. Only the cook’s appearance on the porch had saved them from another scene with Renata when she tried to balk at entering the house. Somehow, Willene had whisked the child inside without a word of protest. What had happened at Oaklawn to send a feisty eleven-year-old girl into such dread?
Clay was caught up in his own thoughts as he sipped his coffee. Connor cast a glance in his direction. Sitting at the head of the table, he was an impressive figure. Man of the house. Man of destiny. She sighed. What was going on at Oaklawn? For the moment, she wanted only to escape to her room and lock the door. It was beginning to dawn on her that she’d made a serious error in judgment. Forty-five thousand, rent-free, stable-free dollars was too much for the job she’d been hired to do. She should have known; she should have suspected. Richard should have warned her that Clay Sumner’s daughter was severely disturbed. She had half a mind to call him and demand that he send her enough money to get out of hock to Clay and get the hell out of Mobile. Whether it was inbreeding, or something in the water, the people she’d met in her brief stay were decidedly odd. It would be best to leave, before things progressed. But how?
That was the rub. She’d cashed Clay’s check and already spent two-thirds of the fifteen thousand. She was still in debt for a new truck and horse trailer, not to mention the breeding fee for Cleo. How could she pay him back? She had no job, no income. He’d have to give her time. After all, he hadn’t been exactly forthcoming with the actual conditions of her employment. It was as much his fault as hers. Had she known the daughter was so disturbed, she’d never have taken the job.
“Ms. Tremaine, would you take a walk with me? I’d like to show you the grounds.”
Clay’s voice made her start. She’d fallen so deeply into her own troubles she’d forgotten she was still sitting at the table with him. “Of course.” She put her napkin on the table and stood, her gaze catching his for a moment. She felt the brush of his fingers across her jaw as surely as if he’d physically reached out to her. But he hadn’t moved at all! She took an instinctive step backward and struck her chair.
“Ms. Tremaine.” He jumped up and grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” she managed. His fingers were warm, supporting. She lifted her arm from his grasp. “Thank you. I have some things I need to talk about with you, too.”
Connor preceded him down the hall and to the door, and they walked out together. She was keenly aware that his stride was long and purposeful, perfectly matched to her own. Silence stretched between them as they left the house behind. They walked on, almost to the end of the pecan orchard, and still he said nothing.
“Mr. Sumner, you weren’t honest with me.” Connor broke the silence. “You never indicated at all that your daughter is … emotionally disturbed.” There, it was out in the open.
“Renata has been having nightmares. For a long time,” he answered. He looked at Connor, his blue eyes unwavering. “I tried to help her, but I can’t seem to get through. Renata refuses to say what she dreams about or anything else. I fear her condition is getting worse and worse.”
“She needs professional help. She’s terrified of something, and it isn’t just a childish fear of riding. If I were her parent, I’d get her to a really good child psychologist.”
Clay shook his head in a combination of disgust and anger. “I tried. We had the best man in New Orleans. It was absolutely useless. Renata sat without speaking for session after session. We went at this for eighteen months, Ms. Tremaine, twice a week. Don’t you think I haven’t tried everything? Renata said if I made her go back, she’d run away.”
“Children don’t know what’s good for them,” Connor gently reminded him. “Renata is a child. She can’t be
Clay was caught up in his own thoughts as he sipped his coffee. Connor cast a glance in his direction. Sitting at the head of the table, he was an impressive figure. Man of the house. Man of destiny. She sighed. What was going on at Oaklawn? For the moment, she wanted only to escape to her room and lock the door. It was beginning to dawn on her that she’d made a serious error in judgment. Forty-five thousand, rent-free, stable-free dollars was too much for the job she’d been hired to do. She should have known; she should have suspected. Richard should have warned her that Clay Sumner’s daughter was severely disturbed. She had half a mind to call him and demand that he send her enough money to get out of hock to Clay and get the hell out of Mobile. Whether it was inbreeding, or something in the water, the people she’d met in her brief stay were decidedly odd. It would be best to leave, before things progressed. But how?
That was the rub. She’d cashed Clay’s check and already spent two-thirds of the fifteen thousand. She was still in debt for a new truck and horse trailer, not to mention the breeding fee for Cleo. How could she pay him back? She had no job, no income. He’d have to give her time. After all, he hadn’t been exactly forthcoming with the actual conditions of her employment. It was as much his fault as hers. Had she known the daughter was so disturbed, she’d never have taken the job.
“Ms. Tremaine, would you take a walk with me? I’d like to show you the grounds.”
Clay’s voice made her start. She’d fallen so deeply into her own troubles she’d forgotten she was still sitting at the table with him. “Of course.” She put her napkin on the table and stood, her gaze catching his for a moment. She felt the brush of his fingers across her jaw as surely as if he’d physically reached out to her. But he hadn’t moved at all! She took an instinctive step backward and struck her chair.
“Ms. Tremaine.” He jumped up and grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” she managed. His fingers were warm, supporting. She lifted her arm from his grasp. “Thank you. I have some things I need to talk about with you, too.”
Connor preceded him down the hall and to the door, and they walked out together. She was keenly aware that his stride was long and purposeful, perfectly matched to her own. Silence stretched between them as they left the house behind. They walked on, almost to the end of the pecan orchard, and still he said nothing.
“Mr. Sumner, you weren’t honest with me.” Connor broke the silence. “You never indicated at all that your daughter is … emotionally disturbed.” There, it was out in the open.
“Renata has been having nightmares. For a long time,” he answered. He looked at Connor, his blue eyes unwavering. “I tried to help her, but I can’t seem to get through. Renata refuses to say what she dreams about or anything else. I fear her condition is getting worse and worse.”
“She needs professional help. She’s terrified of something, and it isn’t just a childish fear of riding. If I were her parent, I’d get her to a really good child psychologist.”
Clay shook his head in a combination of disgust and anger. “I tried. We had the best man in New Orleans. It was absolutely useless. Renata sat without speaking for session after session. We went at this for eighteen months, Ms. Tremaine, twice a week. Don’t you think I haven’t tried everything? Renata said if I made her go back, she’d run away.”
“Children don’t know what’s good for them,” Connor gently reminded him. “Renata is a child. She can’t be
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