Donovan's Child

“You mean the gym? You were working out?”

“Torture really is a better word for it. Necessary torture, but torture nonetheless.” And he had no desire to talk about himself. “What made you become an architect?”

She sank back against the sofa cushions. “Didn’t I explain all that in my fellowship submission?”

As if he remembered some essay she had written to go with her original concept for the children’s center. As if he’d even read her essay. Essays were of no interest to him. It was the work that mattered. “Explain it again. Briefly, if you don’t mind.”

She turned her head to the side, slid him a narrow look. He thought she would argue and he was ready for that—looking forward to it, really. But she didn’t. “Four of my seven brothers work for the family company, Bravo Corp. I wanted to be in the family business, too. BravoCorp used to be big into property development.”

“And so you set out to become the family architect.”

She gave him one slow, regal nod. “But since then, BravoCorp has moved more into renewable energy. And various other investments. There’s not much of a need for an architect at the moment.” She set her drink on the side table by the arm of the sofa. “What about your family?”

He put on a fake expression of shock. “Haven’t you read my books?”

She almost rolled her eyes. “What? That was a requirement?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, then all right. I confess. I have read your books. All four of them, as matter of fact. Will there be a quiz?”

“Don’t tempt me. And if you’ve read my books, then you know more than anyone could ever want to know about my family.”

“I’d like to hear it from you—briefly, if you don’t mind.” Those haunting eyes turned more gold than green as she gave his own words back to him.

He bent to the side and set his drink on the floor, then straightened in the chair and braced his elbows on the swing-away armrests. “I hate all this getting-to-know-you crap.”

“Really? You seemed to be enjoying yourself a minute or two ago. But then, that was when you were asking the questions.”

“You are an annoying woman.” There. It was out.

She said nothing for several seconds. When she did speak, her voice was gentle. “You’re not going to scare me off, Donovan. If you want me to go, you’ll have to send me away—which means you’ll also have to admit, once and for all, that you’re backing out of the fellowship.”

“But I’m not backing out of the fellowship.”

“All right, then. Tell me about your family.”

He was tempted to refuse. If she’d read his books as she claimed, she knew it all anyway. But he had the distinct impression that if he refused, she would only badger him until he gave it up.

So he told her. “My father was never in the picture.”

From where he sat, without shifting his gaze from her face, he could see out the wide front windows. He spotted the headlights of a car approaching down the winding driveway. When the car pulled to a stop under the glow of the bright facade lights, he recognized the vehicle.

A red Cadillac.

He ignored the car and continued telling Abilene what she no doubt already knew. “My mother was a very determined woman. I was her only child and she set out to make me fearless. She was a force to be reckoned with. Adventurous. Always curious. And clever. It was her idea that I should write my autobiography when I wasn’t even old enough to have one. She said I needed to cultivate myself as a legend and an authority. And the rest would follow. She died when I was in my early twenties. A freak skydiving accident.”

Abilene had her elbow braced on the chair arm, her strong chin framed in the L of her thumb and forefinger. “A legend and an authority. I like that.”

“It’s a direct quote from my second book. If you really had read that book, you would remember it.”

“This may come as a shock, but I don’t remember everything I read.”

“How limiting for you.”

She gave him a slow smile, one that told him he was not going to break her. “Did you ever find your father?”

“To find him implies that I looked for him.”

“So that would be a no?”

An atonal series of chimes sounded: the doorbell. Abilene sent a glance over her shoulder and shifted as if to rise.

“Don’t get up,” Donovan said.

“But—”

“Olga will take care of it.”

Abilene sank back to the couch cushions as his housekeeper appeared in the wide-open arched doorway that led to the foyer. Olga cast him a questioning look. He gave a tight shake of his head.

Olga shut the thick archway doors before answering the bell. Seconds later, there were voices: Olga’s and that of another woman. The heavy foyer doors blocked out the actual words.

He heard the front door shut.

And then Olga opened the doors to the living area again. “Dinner is ready,” she announced, her square face, framed by wiry graying hair, serene and untroubled.

“Thanks, Olga. We’ll be right in.” Out in the driveway, the Cadillac started moving, backing and turning and then speeding off the way it had come. Abilene had turned to watch it go. He asked her, “Hungry?”

She faced him again. “Who was that?”

“Does it really matter? And more to the point, is it any of your business?”

Abilene stood and smoothed her skinny little skirt down over those shapely knees. “I can see this is going to be one long, dirty battle, every step of the way.”

“Maybe you should give up, pack your bags, go back to San Antonio and your so-helpful builder friend, who also happens to be the father of your half sister, as well as of your sister-in-law. To the loving arms of your large, powerful, wealthy family. To your father, who loves your mother even though he betrayed her.”

Her eyes went to jade, mysterious. Deep. “I’m going nowhere, Donovan.”

“Wait. Learn. The evening is young yet. You can still change your mind.”

“It’s obvious that you don’t know me very well.”

Chapter Three

Dinner, Abilene found, was more of the same.

A verbal torture chamber. But at least it was brief. She saw to that.