Black Rose - NRoberts - G2 Black Rose

She blinked. “Harper, you don’t have any problem with Roz seeing a man like that. That’d be just silly.”

“Last time she was seeing a man like that, she ended up married to the son of a bitch.”

“She made a mistake,” Hayley said, heating up. “And Mitch is nothing like that bastard Bryce Clerk.”

“And we know this because?”

“Because we do.”

“Not good enough.”

“He certainly is good enough for her.”

“That’s not what I said. I said—”

“Just because he isn’t rich, or doesn’t have that fancy Harper blood running through him doesn’t mean you should build a case against him.” She drilled a finger straight into Harper’s chest. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, talking like some snob.”

“I’m not saying that, don’t be stupid.”

“Don’t you call me stupid.”

“I didn’t call you stupid. Jesus Christ.”

“I don’t even want to talk to you right now.” She turned on her heel, stomped out.

“Fine. I don’t want to talk to you, either,” he shot back.

He stewed about it, worked himself up about the entire situation while he loaded and transported the plants himself.

Ready for battle, he searched out his mother.

She was in the field, checking on the nursery beds, and the roses he’d t-budded earlier in the season.

She wore a stone-gray hoodie, fingerless gloves, and a pair of boots so old and scarred they were no discernable color. She looked, Harper realized, more like a contemporary than his mother.

“Hayley find you?” she called out.

“Yeah, it’s done.”

“You know, I’m thinking of adding a mist propagation tent, and doing more palms. Honey, I’ve got to tell you, I’m excited at how these multiple trees you did are coming along. Our customers are going to have fun with these. I’m thinking of taking one of the nectarine and peach myself.”

She studied one of the young trees Harper had grafted, then fan-trained on stakes. “This is lovely work, Harper, and that weeping pear over there—”

“Mama, are you sleeping with Mitch Carnegie?”

“What?” She turned fully to face him, and the pleased smile, the glint of pride in her eyes both froze away. “What did you ask me?”

“You heard what I asked. I’d like an answer.”

“And why would I answer a question that you have no business asking?”

“I want to know how seriously you’re involved with him. I have a right to know.”

“You certainly do not.”

“I kept my mouth shut about Clerk. That was my mistake. I’m not making it again. I’m looking after you whether you like it or not. So if you don’t tell me, I’ll go ask him.”

“You’ll do no such thing, Harper.” She paced away, stood with her back to him. He knew her well enough to be sure she was battling back a spew of temper. They both had a dangerous one, and were both very careful with it. “When’s the last time I quizzed you about who you see socially, or who you’re intimate with?”

“When’s the last time I married a fortune hunter?”

She whirled back, and the temper was so close to the surface now, he saw it burning out of her eyes. “Don’t you throw that in my face. I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like doing it. I don’t care how mad you get, nobody’s going to hurt you like that again while I’m around. Just how much do we know about him? From where I’m standing he’s already crossing a line hitting on someone he’s working for.”

“You’re so damn proper about the oddest things. How did I ever manage that?” She let out a long breath. “Let me ask you this. Have you ever known me to make the same mistake twice?”

“Not so far.”

“Your confidence in me is overwhelming.” She took off one of the gloves she wore, slapped it against her thigh. “I’ll tell you this. He’s an interesting and attractive man who I’ve enjoyed seeing a couple of times on a social level. He has a strong and loving relationship with his son, and since I pride myself on the same, that goes a long way with me. He’s divorced, and maintains a cordial relationship with the mother of his son and her second husband. This is not always an easy feat. He’s done nothing improper, even by your lofty standards.”

“They’re lofty when it comes to you.”

“Oh, Harper. I’m not a paragon.”

“Who wants you to be? What I want you to be is safe and happy.”

“Honey.” She stepped to him then, laid her hands on his cheeks, shook his head gently from side-to-side. “That’s supposed to be my line to you. If I promise you, take a solemn oath, that I learned my lesson with Bryce, will you relax?”

“Only if you promise to tell me if he pushes where you don’t want to be pushed.”

“Listen to you. All right, then, I’ll promise. Come on, let’s take a look at the rest of this before we go in.”

IT CERTAINLY GAVERoz a lot to think about. How could she know her firstborn so well, yet have been completely surprised by the altercation that afternoon?

Then again, did any mother ever consider her children would worry about her? There just wasn’t enough room in the brain or heart for that possibility, when they were both so full of worry and concern for the child.

Added to that, it had come home fully, for the first time, just how much she’d let him down with Bryce. She’d hurt Harper as much, and maybe more, than she herself had been hurt.

Was that something you could make up to those you loved, or was it something that just had to heal over, like a wound?

Because she wanted quiet, she went into her room from the outside entrance, peeled off her outer gear.

She wandered into her sitting room, intending to put on music and spend some time sketching just to wind down from the day. But she saw the neat piles of mail on her desk. David, as was his habit, had separated the personal correspondence—not much these days as she and most everyone she knew had slid into e-mail posts—business, and bills.

Because she believed in handling the bad news first, she sat and began to open the bills. The utilities on the house made her wince a bit, but that was the price to be paid for having so much space, and so many people using it.

She got out her checkbook, promising herself that soon—before next month—she would master the bill-paying business on-line. Of course, she promised the same every month. But this time she meant it. She’d have Stella show her the ropes, first chance.

She paid the electric, the gas, the phone, a credit card bill. Then frowned at another envelope from another credit card company. She nearly tossed it, assuming it was a solicitation, then opened it, just to check.

Her eyes widened as she looked at the charges, the total. Over eight thousand dollars. Eight thousand ? It was ridiculous, absurd.

She didn’t have a card with this company, and certainly hadn’t charged eight thousand dollars. Restaurants, electronics, the men’s department at Dillard’s.

Baffled, she picked up the phone to report the mistake, then spent the next half hour winding her way through tangled and sticky red tape.

The next call she made was to her lawyer.

Once the wheels were set in motion, she sat back, the sinking sensation in her stomach making her queasy. The card had been taken out in her name, with all her information—her address, her Social Security number, even her mother’s maiden name. The other user on the card was listed as Ashby Harper.

Clever, she thought. Very clever.

He hadn’t used his own name, and hadn’t accumulated charges at his most usual haunts. By now, she had no doubt the card was destroyed. The last charge had been made three days before the end of the billing cycle.

Covered all the bases as usual—that bastard Bryce.

The money wouldn’t have been the main thrust, she thought now. Not that he wouldn’t enjoy the benefits of eight thousand and change. But the point would have been the trouble for her, the irritation, and most of all the reminder that he was still in her face. And there was little she could do about it.

It was doubtful the charges could be traced back to him, that it could be proved he’d defrauded the credit card company. It was she who would be forced to untangle the knots, spending the time, the effort, and paying any legal fees.

It was mean and small of him, and suited him perfectly.

And Harper, poor Harper, worried she’d make that kind of mistake again. Not in a million years.

To give herself more time to settle, she skipped dinner, then wrote long, detailed posts to her two younger sons before calling Harper.

Once she knew the children were in bed for the night, she asked Harper, David, along with Stella and Hayley to join her in the front parlor.

“I’m sorry,” she began. “I know some of you might have plans for the night. I don’t think this will take long.”

“It’s all right,” Stella told her. “Something’s the matter. Just tell us what it is.”

“I’ve already taken steps to deal with it, but it’s likely all of you will be asked, at least, to answer some questions. In going through my bills this evening, I came upon a credit card bill—a card I don’t have, charges I didn’t make. However, it was applied for and taken out with considerable personal information. The credit card company will, of course, follow this through. But as I was obliged to list all those who live in this house, I wanted you to be aware. I’ve no doubt the card was taken out by Bryce. He’d know the information, and it’s just his style.”

“You don’t have to pay it,” Hayley said quickly. “This kind of thing happened in the bookstore once where I used to work. You don’t have to pay it.”

“No, I won’t pay it. It simply costs me time and energy, and upsets me—which would have been the motive. It also upsets the household, which he’d enjoy, I’m sure. I’m sorry for that.” She looked at Harper. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that again.” He spoke very softly. “I don’t want to hear you say you’re sorry again, Mama. What about the police?”

“They may very well be involved. But I’m going to tell you what my lawyer told me. While the credit card company will follow through, it’ll be very difficult to prove he’s the one who used the card. He didn’t use his name, and he didn’t charge so much at any given time or place to raise an eyebrow. No one’s going to remember he breezed into Dillard’s and bought some shirts or a pair of shoes. This is the sort of thing he knows how to do quite well.”

She had to get up, to move, so rose to add a log to the fire. “The best we can do is step back from it, as much as we can, and let it play out. Sooner or later, and I believe this, he’ll do one of three things. He’ll get bored with it, he’ll find someone else to harass, or he’ll go just a little too far and hang himself.”

“I vote for Door Number Three,” David put in.

“Your mouth, God’s ear,” Roz assured him, and made herself sit again. “I’ve written both Austin and Mason, because I want them, and all of you, to be on guard. He may very well choose to amuse himself by doing this same sort of thing to one or more of you.”

At the thought of it, the tension in her shoulders increased until her muscles felt like iron rods under her skin. “And Stella, you and I should be particularly vigilant regarding any charges to the business.”

“Don’t worry. He won’t get by us. Roz, I’m so sorry you have to deal with this. Anything I can do—anything any of us can do?”

“I’ll let you know, I promise. All right.” Roz got to her feet. “That’s all, then. I’m going to go on up, get to some work I’ve put off.”