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Whitney felt a violent surge of resentment. So...Luke thought he could stay on here, living off her own meager bank account.
No way.
He’d already peeled a banana and diced it. Now he dipped the squares in milk, rolled them in the wheat germ and began setting them on the plastic tray. Reluctantly intrigued—not only by the economy of Luke’s movements but by his lean, tanned fingers with their smooth rounded nails—she wanted to stay and watch. Instead she set his coffee mug on the table along with the creamer and sugar bowl.
‘I’m going through to the living room,’ she said crisply, as the baby with intense concentration picked up a banana morsel. ‘I have some phone calls to make—’
‘You’ll be calling Maxwell, I guess, and asking him to make enquiries about me. Let me save you both some time.’ After wiping his hands on the seat of his jeans, Luke dug into his hip pocket and took out his wallet. Extricating a couple of business cards, he slapped one down onto the table. ‘Dale Gregg—loan officer at the bank where I stash my money...when I have any, and—’ he tossed the second card down on top of it ‘—Elisa Thomson, a lawyer who’s done some work for me recently. They both know my current financial status. I’ll phone them as soon as I’ve fed Troy, and ask them to cooperate with Maxwell when he calls. They’ll give him all the info you need.’
Whitney picked up the cards and read the addresses.
She looked up at him. ‘You’ve been in California, all this time?’
‘Land of surf and sun bunnies.’
‘A beach burn.’
His only answer to her scornful comment was a slanting smile.
‘So,’ she went on, ‘you’ve nothing to show for your thirteen years away but a tan, an empty bankbook, and—’
‘And a baby.’
Whitney shook her head. ‘Unbelievable.’
‘Isn’t he, though?’
‘Unbelievable that someone with your potential could have screwed up so badly,’ she snapped. ‘It’s commonplace to hear about the self-willed teenage girl who runs away from home because she refuses to live by the house rules—only to come back with her tail tucked between her legs and an illegitimate baby in her arms. It’s unusual to see a reversal of roles...but your case is a perfect example—’
‘You mean—’ his blue eyes were wide and innocent ‘—someone took advantage of me and got me pregnant?’
‘—and it’s people like you who are ripping apart the very fabric of North American society—’
‘Oh, I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration! I’m only—’
‘—with your irresponsible behavior! You want to have your fun, but when things go wrong, you want somebody else to bail you out. Bad enough you behave that way when you’ve only yourself to look after, but when you have a child—’
The baby whimpered.
Whitney jerked her head around and felt a stab of dismay. His little mouth was turned down, his lower lip was trembling and his tear-filled eyes were fixed on her with a look that said better than any words: ‘How could you!’
Which was exactly what she asked herself.
How could she possibly have forgotten that Troy was in the room? She was well aware of how awful it was for a child to have to listen to grown-ups fighting, yet here she was, subjecting this one to that very thing.
‘Babies,’ Luke said quietly, ‘pick up on bad vibes. When I’m around Troy, no matter how...difficult... things may be, I’ve always tried to maintain a happy and positive attitude. I’d appreciate it if you’d make an effort to do the same. The situation we’re in isn’t easy for either of us. Let’s just try to make the best of it, mmm?’
A painful lump swelled in Whitney’s throat, and though she tried to swallow it, it wouldn’t go away.
Luke went to crouch by his son, running a hand over his dark hair, and speaking reassuringly to him. Soothing him.
Whitney picked up her mug and walked unhappily out of the kitchen.
And as she did, she swore that, however long Luke stayed at Brannigan House, no matter how he infuriated her, she’d never lose her temper with him again.
At least, she amended, not in front of the baby!
CHAPTER THREE
‘EDMUND MAXWELL has gone on holiday and he won’t be back for two weeks.’ Whitney put her coffee mug into the dishwasher. ‘That should give you a breathing space. Time to look around for a job. Once you’ve got one, you can move out.’
‘A job?’
As she heard the amusement in Luke’s voice, Whitney turned to glare at him. ‘Yes, a job. As in “a paid position of employment?” Even beach bums have to grow up someday!’
‘Not necessarily.’ He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. ‘Anyway, who’d hire me? I’m a high school dropout.’
‘You could work as a laborer at a construction site—there’s a new housing scheme going up at the end of the lake. You look fit enough—’ she avoided looking at his wide chest and muscled arms ‘—and there should be no problem getting hired on.’
‘Is there a bus service up here now from town?’ Luke scratched his head. ‘Didn’t used to be...’
‘You can eventually buy a used car.’
‘What we have here is a catch-22 situation. If I were to find a job, I’d need a vehicle to get to it, but I wouldn’t be able to afford a car till I had more than a few paychecks in my hand. Besides, there is a problem...’
Troy sputtered, and spat out a few crumbs of toast. ‘—and as you can see,’ Luke went on dryly, ‘he’s not about to be overlooked.’
‘Enrol your son in a day care center. That’s what other people in your position have to do. Why should you have to be any different!’
Troy was scowling, as he looked from one to the other.
A scowl which reminded Whitney of her vow not to fight with Luke in front of the child.
She drew in a deep breath. ‘We’ll continue this discussion later, when the baby’s asleep.’
Luke got to his feet, and taking her arm in a firm grip, led her out into the hallway, letting the kitchen door swing shut.
‘This discussion will go nowhere.’ Tension tightened his voice. ‘If you think I’d leave my son with a complete stranger, you’ve got rocks in your head.’
‘No need to leave him with a stranger.’ Whitney tilted her chin challengingly. ‘Does the name Dixie Mae ring a bell?’
‘Dixie who?’
‘Five feet nothing, blond hair fluffed out to here, and breasts out to there?’
His quick grin irritated her. As did his lazily drawled, ‘Ah, now I remember. Dixie Mae Best. She was—’
‘One of your many girlfriends.’
‘Dix’s still around?’
‘Oh, yes, she’s still around. And she runs the Best Day Care Center in Emerald. She’s had a couple of bad marriages, but apparently she’s good with children.’
‘Is she still as...?’ Straight-faced, Luke sketched a couple of voluptuous circles with his hands.
‘Why don’t you look her up, and you can find out for yourself!’
‘I may just do that. But I tell you one thing, I’ll not put Troy in day care. The kid stays with me.’
‘Well, that cuts down on your options. You really—’
He cut into her derisive response. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’
‘A walk? I don’t want to go for a walk! I have things to do.’
‘When I was hiking up the road from town yesterday, I had a look at the vineyards. I want to have a closer look. And maybe you can explain why—’
‘If you want to talk business, talk to Edmund Maxwell when he gets b—’
‘The Emerald Valley Vineyard used to be one of the most profitable in the Okanagan. Don’t try to tell me it still is. What we have here is a vineyard full of baco noir, verdelet, and Seyve-Villard—grapes my father planted sixteen years ago—grapes that have little cachet in today’s varietal-driven market. Dammit, my grandmother should have seen what was happening! She should have anticipated—’
‘Your grandmother had been failing for some time before her accident. She hired a temporary manager, but he didn’t work out, and after that, she let things slide—’
‘Didn’t you take any interest in the vineyards? After all, it was Brannigan money that brought you up and has given you the high standard of living you enjoy here—’
‘Now just a minute! When I was teaching, I contributed more than my fair share to the household expenses—’
‘—and it’ll be the interest from Brannigan capital that will in the future keep you in the luxury you’re—’
‘There is no Brannigan capital! Edmund Maxwell told me that yesterday, before he left. So you see, you have nothing to gain by standing in the way of my selling.’
‘My grandmother used the capital? You’ve been living off the capital? My God, I can’t believe—’
Whitney cringed from his burning anger and outrage. ‘So you see, there’s no option but to sell. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t afford to keep up this place.’
‘Da-da-da...’
The plaintive call for attention came from the kitchen.
‘Get a jacket.’ Mouth set grimly, Luke glowered down at her. ‘I want to take a closer look at what we’ve got. But I tell you now, you can forget about selling this place. It’s not going to happen.’
Brannigan House was situated at the end of the northern tip of the Naramata bench. The vineyards, perched on the valley’s steep slopes, with a south-western exposure, climbed above Emerald Lake. The neat rows striped the rolling hills like wales in heavy green corduroy.
Whitney had thrown on a parka over her T-shirt and jeans, but although Luke had dressed the baby cosily, and tucked the blue cap on his head, he himself wore no jacket.
Perhaps the carrier cut the breeze, at least on his back, Whitney reflected as they walked together down the road that cut diagonally across the planted vines.
‘You say you’ve had nothing to do with the vineyards.’ Luke didn’t look at her as he spoke.
‘Not because I wasn’t interested,’ she said steadily. ‘It’s just that with my fair skin, I can’t stay out too long in the sun, so working outside was never an option for me—’
‘Anyway, you were an academic.’ He broke in roughly. ‘Your nose was always stuck in one school text or another. Did you stay on at Penticton High?’
‘For a year, then your grandmother sent me to boarding school on Vancouver Island. After graduation, I went to UBC...and before you start sniping, I waitressed part-time and paid all my tuition fees myself—’
‘Ah. The University of British Columbia. So you...eventually...took my place...even there.’
‘Your place was always open to you, Luke, if you’d wanted it.’ She glanced a him, sideways, and saw that Troy had grabbed two handfuls of his father’s sun-bleached blond hair and was enjoying a tug of war.
‘Then what?’ Luke asked. ‘After UBC...’
‘I took a year off to travel in Europe. And when I came home I got a job teaching English at Penticton High.’
‘When do you go back?’
‘I won’t be going back.’
He glanced at her, his expression cynical. ‘So you gave up your job in expectations of inheriting the Emerald Valley Vineyards? You thought you’d be a lady of leisure.’
‘I gave up my job a year ago in order to look after your grandmother—’
‘Didn’t they keep your position open for you?’
‘Are you completely out of touch with what’s been going on in this province? Of course they didn’t keep it open. When I left, they had dozens of applicants for the post.’
‘So...you and I are in the same situation. No job, no prospects...but at least we have a roof over our heads.’ Veering off the road, he started walking downhill, between the vines, and didn’t resume their conversation.
Which suited Whitney just fine.
She followed him, pausing behind him when, from time to time, he stopped to inspect a vine, tug out a weed, pick some dry soil and let it run through his fingers, or examine a sagging overhead trellis.
On one such occasion, Troy threw back his head, and looked at Whitney upside down.
She smiled at him. What a little love he was! She made a soft coo-coo sound, for his ears alone, and he smiled back, charming her, and then he focused his attention once again on his father’s hair.
After about ten minutes, Luke turned, so abruptly that Whitney almost walked into him.
‘Let’s go back,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen enough.’
‘I’m going to walk on down to the lake.’ At least that way she would have some time on her own to think.
Troy gave a wide yawn.
‘The baby should be in bed,’ she went on quickly, afraid Luke might say he’d come with her. ‘Do you need more blankets? You’ll find some in the airing cupboard—it’s upstairs, next to the—’
‘I don’t need a map to find my way around Brannigan House, Whitney.’ His tone was harsh. ‘I was born here. I know every nook and cranny, every cupboard, every—’
‘Point taken. Only you don’t need to be so nasty about it! You may have been born here... but I never asked to live here. At twelve years of age, I was given no choice in the matter. And—’ her eyes sparked ‘—if I’d had a choice, this is the last place on earth I’d have chosen. You were the cruelest person I’d ever met, so wrapped up in your own jealousies and insecurities you never gave one thought to—’
