His Best Friend's Sister. Sarah M. Anderson

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СКАЧАТЬ of his sporty red convertible, hand out and waiting for her.

      His lips curved into a small smile when she realized she was staring at him. Oh, heavens—she was probably making a fool of herself. Then again, that was nothing new. “I don’t know.” It was the most honest thing she’d said in so long...but somehow, she knew she didn’t have to put on a brave face for him.

      “Here.” Taking both of her hands in his, he helped her from the low-slung car. But instead of letting go of her or stepping back, he stayed where he was. Close enough to touch. “I got an email from your brother a couple of months ago,” he said, staring down into her eyes. “All it said was to look after you. Renee, I’m sorry I didn’t follow up. If I had realized...”

      She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Oliver Lawrence was apologizing. To her! She didn’t need his apologies, but all the same, she felt something in her chest loosen. Everyone else had abandoned her. But this man—an old acquaintance, a childhood friend at best—was sorry that he hadn’t got to her sooner.

      Or was this one of those things people said to smooth over the unpleasant truths? Was he saying this because he meant it or because it was a cover?

      God, she hoped it was real. She blinked hard and wondered at this strange urge to throw her arms around his neck and lean into his touch. Would he hug her back? Would he wrap his arms around her and press her against his chest? Would the heat of his body reach her through her clothes and the ironclad armor she hid behind?

      Or would he stand there stiffly for a moment and then disentangle himself as politely as possible to protect her feelings? She didn’t know.

      Just then, one of the swans—Wilma, she decided—made a weird whooping noise that broke the moment. “Let me show you around,” he said, releasing her hands and getting her luggage out of the car.

      She turned to look back at the mansion. There was no other word for it. Three and a half stories of warm red brick welcomed her to Red Oak Hill. On this side, a huge wraparound porch of pristine white wood faced the lake. Trellises of yellow roses ran up the side of the wraparound porch, their sweet fragrance filling the air with every breeze.

      The Preston real estate, like everything of value the family had owned, now belonged to the feds. She supposed, once all the trials were over and the sentences had been handed down, the properties and jewels and art would all be sold at auction and the money returned to the investors her family had scammed. It wouldn’t be enough, but she certainly didn’t have a spare billion or so lying around.

      She hadn’t even kept her wedding ring. They’d offered to let her hold on to the three-carat diamond in a princess setting—for now anyway—but Renee had been happy to hand it over. It had never stood for love and honor. All it’d been was another lie. Hopefully, however much they could get for that ring would help make things right.

      The entrance hall of the mansion gleamed with warm polished wood—red, of course. The sweeping staircase led up to the second floor. The doorway on the right led to what appeared to be Oliver’s office, with a massive desk in the center of the room and rich brown leather sofas arranged around the Persian rug.

      He gave her a brief tour and started up the stairs but then he stopped and waited for her. “Doing all right?”

      In that moment, Renee wished she hadn’t come. Yes, Oliver was being a perfect gentleman—and a surprisingly compassionate friend. Yes, this mansion by a pond with a pair of swans was the perfect place to hide.

      But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d put Oliver at risk by coming here. She’d done nothing wrong, but her name was ruined and everything she did—everything she touched—was tainted by the sins of her family and her husband.

      She didn’t want to do anything that might hurt Oliver or Chloe. She didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore.

      “Renee?” He came back down the stairs and stood before her. When he lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, she knew she should pull away. It wasn’t right to let him care for her.

      It wasn’t right to care for him.

      “I’m sorry,” she said. Sorry for all of it.

      “It’s been a long day,” he said, misunderstanding. And, fool that she was, she wasn’t strong enough to correct him. “Let me show you to your room. You need to rest.”

      And even though she knew she shouldn’t, she leaned into his touch and asked, “Will you be here when I wake up?”

      His thumb caressed her cheek so tenderly that she had to close her eyes. When was the last time someone had touched her like they cared? Chet Willoughby had not been capable of tenderness unless it benefited him directly. Nothing about her presence here benefited Oliver, directly or indirectly. She was nothing but a risk. And yet he was still being kind to her.

      She almost exhaled in relief when his hand fell away, breaking that connection. But then he set down her suitcase and the next thing she knew, she was cradled in his arms. “I’ve got you,” he said as he carried her up the stairs. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

      All she could do was rest her head against his shoulder. It wasn’t all right. It might never be okay ever again.

      But right now, he had her.

      And that was good enough.

      * * *

      Somehow, Oliver got Renee’s heels off her feet and her legs swung up onto the bed without thinking about her bare skin against his palms too much. He couldn’t get her under the covers, so he laid her on the bed, where she promptly curled on her side and shut her eyes.

      Blankets. He hurried into the next room and grabbed the coverlet off the bed. By the time he made it back, she was breathing deeply and her face had relaxed.

      He tucked the blanket around her shoulders, pausing only when she sighed in her sleep. But she didn’t stir.

      He could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket—he left the sound off because the chimes interrupted his thinking. Bailey was undoubtedly forwarding him news articles. Oliver should get some work done. He’d need to smooth ruffled feathers from canceling his meetings this afternoon.

      Especially the one with Herb Ritter. Ritter had been in business with Lawrence Energies for close to thirty years. He was mean and crotchety and, unfortunately, a damned good oilman. And he’d been Milt Lawrence’s best friend ever since the Lawrence family had relocated to Texas, which only made things worse. It was bad enough he had to manage his father, but also dealing with Ritter felt like a punishment. And the hell of it was Oliver had no idea what he’d done to deserve it.

      He’d kept his promise to his mother. He ran the family business and kept his father from going completely off the deep end and Chloe as much in the loop as he could and Flash—well, no one could tell Flash a damned thing. Oliver managed the damned rodeo instead of doing something for himself. Even if he wasn’t sure what that something might be anymore.

      He did his job and kept his word. Wasn’t that enough? Would it ever be enough?

      But even this urgency wasn’t enough to pull Oliver away from Renee’s bedside.

      God, she was beautiful. Tired and worried and pregnant, but beautiful all the same. He wished he could go back to Clint’s wedding all СКАЧАТЬ