Chapter Fourteen
Toby dragged closed the door, leaving her alone among his most personal things. Planted in the middle of the floor, Rose listened as his footfalls receded, and moved toward the bathroom, when she noted another picture frame hanging beside the bathroom door with a flattened, desiccated rose pressed within the frame and a yellowed note beside it:
FROMMYYOUNGESTSON, TOBY BRI. AGE 8. ANNIVERSARYGIFT.
Her brow furrowed, and she stalled.
Something here was special. A mother’s love, for certain, if Toby kept this in his room. But perhaps what was more important here was a son’s love for his mother. Had her death been a horrible accident? Perhaps a long, drawn-out illness? An unexpected passing? He’d hesitated to talk about his mom last night, but it was becoming clear that maybe he needed to. Just as I need to talk about mine.
Rose’s throat thickened with grief for him as she glanced over the photo. No matter how a family was torn apart, losing a mother was unbearable. Deborah Ann had been a tough lady, by the look of it. Jeans, work coat, light-brown hair. Toby favored his mother’s looks. His dad was dark in hair and eyes, like Toby’s older brothers, and tall, a trait he’d passed on to all three of his sons. Among the couple were their three boys, with the Legacy in the background. The oldest, maybe ten or eleven, stood tall in front of his father while the man rested his hand upon his son’s shoulder; a boy in front of and in between his parents stood a few inches shorter than the first; and there, the youngest—Toby, she smiled—a shy little boy leaned into his mother’s leg, hugging her, while the woman rested her palm upon his tousled crown.
Rose ran her fingertip over the image. Toby was an enigma. All fun and games on the outside, hiding a depth she could only fathom.
She slipped through the bathroom door, flipping on the switch—
The light flickered on in an adjoined room, revealing built-in shelves; a row of old flannels; pearl snaps; polo shirts with the Legacy logo embroidered on the sleeves; a few crisp, starched dress shirts; several western shirts; and a few dark suits. A master bath–closet combo? Fancy.
Along the top shelf sat a row of boxes: Stetson, Stetson, Stetson, and a shoe rack containing ropers and spit-shined Luccheses, jogging shoes, and hiking boots. Good grief, his clothes, though not many—there was a lot of empty space—reeked of dollar signs.
She turned away from the closet, from where his piney fragrance lingered more strongly on the air, but took a deep breath anyway. It smelled so good. She’d smell this scent everywhere she went in this house from now on.
“Such a pretty boy,” she muttered fondly, turning toward the shower—
Modern, shielded by clear glass doors, tiled up the walls in smooth stone.
A detachable showerhead hung on the wall, and from the ceiling hung a large, round disc…another showerhead?
“No freaking way.”
This shower was gorgeous. Why would he offer this to her after knowing her only a short while? She shouldn’t read into it. He was just being nice and letting her use his facilities. But surely he had a handful of other full baths to choose from. Why did he offer her his?
She stripped out of her clothes, eyeing the towels he’d mentioned, a stack of downy fluffiness folded and waiting to be draped around her. Only the best quality. Opening the shower door, she stepped inside with her bag of toiletries, staring with perplexity at the faucet. How did it work? She turned one handle, and freezing water shot down from above.
“Dammit!”
She clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her shriek and jumped aside, banging the wall as her toiletry bag thwacked to the floor. Gooseflesh shot up her arms.
“Okay, so that’s the wrong one.”
She reached under the cold spray to turn it off, then tried to turn what looked like another knob, when the sound of jogging thumped closer, a door thumped open, and Toby skidded to a stop in the middle of the bathroom.
He froze. Stared at her through the glass with wide eyes as if he hadn’t expected to see her naked. “Uh…”
She clenched her arms across her breasts.
“Excuse me,” she finally whispered, and Toby, coming to his senses, bolted back out.
“I, eh, I’m sorry!” he called from just around the wall. “I heard you freak out! I assumed it was a scorpion or something! They get up the drains sometimes. I, um…aw, hell,” he exhaled with exasperation.
Her shock dissipated at his panicked words. Poor man, thinking she couldn’t handle a scorpion. But just the fact that he’d heard her distress and came running did something funny to her stomach. Butterflies. This was twice he’d worried about her and come to check on her.
“It’s, uh, all right!” she called back. “I just turned on the cold water! Kind of a shocker, that’s all.”
“Yeah, sorry. I should have explained the shower system.” He sounded calm again.
Shower system? Whatever had happened to one knob—one way for hot, one way for cold?
“Okaaaay, can you enlighten me?” she asked.