No Shadow (Prodigal Sons of Cane) (3 page)

She nodded a
little jerkily. “This is a good place. I should be all right up here.”

For years
Melissa had been crippled by an intense fear of strangers. During the year
she’d been fourteen, she’d gradually withdrawn from the world until she started
having panic attacks whenever she was faced with someone she didn’t know.

Andrew had
tried everything to treat her condition. Regular counseling, intensive bouts of
therapy, experts all over the world. A few years back he’d put her in a world-class
psychiatric facility for a week. She’d been so terrified they’d had to sedate
her almost constantly, and Andrew couldn’t resist her desperate pleas to bring
her home. All of the doctors had agreed that she couldn’t make any progress
because she refused to try. She didn’t
want
to get better—at least not
enough to make any real efforts toward healing—and so there was no treatment
that could possibly work.

Andrew had
begged her to try harder. He’d talked to her for endless hours in order to
discover the block that was keeping her from taking a first step toward a
normal life. He never stopped searching the new medical and psychological
research done on anything resembling Melissa’s condition.

Nothing had
worked.

So he took care
of her as much as possible. He let her stay at home all the time. He’d brought
in tutors in order to complete her education—although the process of
introducing a new tutor had taken months. He spent as much time with her as he
could and made sure her surroundings were comfortable and secure. She was happy
at home—with him and Jenson and Trish. And she loved when Geoff or their grandmother
came to visit.

She refused to
go out, though, and she panicked whenever she was confronted by a stranger.

Sometimes Andrew
was afraid he was enabling her—making it too easy for her not to try—but he
didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t force her. Couldn’t abandon her. She
was family, and he’d do what he could to keep her safe and happy.

“I’m sorry I’m
such a pain,” Melissa said. “Why do you even put up with me?”

She looked so
little and anxious curled up on the sofa that Andrew got up to give her a hug.
“Because I love you,” he said, his voice a little gruff. “And
you
put up
with
me
.”

She clung to
him for a long time, and Andrew didn’t break the hug until she finally released
him.

Then he
straightened up and said, “Let me know if you need anything else to make these
rooms work. I better head over to the Harrison house.”

Melissa smiled
at him, evidently recovered from her fluttery nerves. “Don’t let the manuscript
go without a fight.”

Andrew smiled.
“You know me. I don’t know how to give up.”

A half-hour later, Andrew pulled
onto the side of the street to park in front of the old Harrison house.

His car was a
luxury import SUV with darkly tinted windows in the back—which after a lot of
searching he’d determined was the best means of transporting Melissa. She
didn’t leave the house very often, but when she did he needed a car that would
make her feel safe.

Andrew studied
the Harrison house as he slid out of the passenger seat. It needed a lot of
work. He hoped it was a good sign that Thomas would be amenable to a generous
offer for the manuscript.

He looked from
the house down the block, to the church he knew was situated across the street at
the corner. It was the First Church of Cane—the one he’d attended for the first
eighteen years of his life.

The thought
gave Andrew more of those tight feelings in his chest. When he’d left Cane so
many years ago, he’d left his faith as well. He’d never stopped believing, but
for years he’d lived as if God had no claim on his life.

Only in these
last few years had he started to recognize what he’d lost. Several months ago,
he’d finally heeded Melissa’s encouragement to read the Bible and attend church.

He was even
praying—although he’d been almost embarrassed to do so again after having
ignored God for a decade—but he was still missing the sense of peace about his
faith that he knew he should have.

He wondered if
Jack Walton was still the pastor of the church.

Evidently
Walton’s only daughter was now a librarian at Cane College.

The thought brought
him back to his purpose here, and he noticed a blue, midsized sedan across the
street and wondered if it belonged to the Walton girl.

He started up
the front walk toward the house, convinced that the manuscript purchase
shouldn’t be too much of a challenge. Thomas needed the money, and Helen Walton
was the kind of person who scared easily.

He remembered
once, when he was in high school, coming upon Helen unexpectedly in a back room
of the church. She’d stared at him like he was a monster, her little glasses
slipping down her nose. When he’d given her a perfectly polite hello, she’d
opened her mouth but no words came out. Then she’d turned around and ran away.

Andrew chuckled
at the memory of her huge, round blue eyes and the little squeak she’d made as
she fled.

He reached the
front door and was about the ring the bell when he noticed two people in the
side yard. Thomas Harrison was sitting on a bench near the ramshackle gazebo
with a woman beside him.

Andrew was
caught off guard.

Because of the
play of branches from the surrounding trees, Thomas was entirely in the shade
and the woman was in direct sunlight. She looked gilded, set off by a fall of
bright light. Her blond hair glowed in the sun like luminous gold, and her skin
was alight with the same brilliance.

Everything
about her—her hair, her skin, her smile—all of it shone with startling
radiance.

They hadn’t
seen him yet, so Andrew started over, wondering who she was and how Harrison
had managed to snare himself such a beautiful girlfriend. As he got nearer, he
saw that the woman’s hair was pulled up into some sort of bun and she was
wearing an outfit that looked feminine and old-fashioned, so different from the
urban women he was used to.

She was talking
earnestly, no longer smiling, but she still seemed luminous, lit from within.
He’d never seen anything like it.

Andrew continued
approaching, staring at the woman, until near the gazebo he stopped himself
short. He was acting like a half-crazed boy, mesmerized by a pretty face and a
trick of the sunlight. He could see Thomas’s face now, and the man’s expression
seemed to indicate that he and the woman were definitely a couple.

Maybe the
Walton girl had already left.

Andrew stood
for a minute, recalling his strategy for approaching Thomas and telling himself
not to stare anymore at the radiant woman.

When he’d basically
returned to his senses, he called out a friendly, “Good afternoon. I’m sorry to
interrupt.”

Thomas turned
in surprise, and the woman actually gave a little jump. Both stood as Andrew
walked up to them.

“Andrew,”
Thomas said. “It’s good to see you. It’s been a long time.”

They shook
hands, and Andrew’s eyes strayed over to the unknown woman. Her expression was
a little odd now—kind of tight around her courteous smile.

Noticing his
preoccupation, Thomas said, “This is Helen Walton. I don’t know if you’ll
remember her or not.”

It felt like
someone kicked Andrew in the gut.

Helen stretched
out her hand to him. “Mr. Cane, it’s nice to see you again. I remember you, but
you probably don’t remember me. I was several years younger than you growing
up.” She gave a little start. “I guess I’m still several years younger.” Her
cheeks reddened a little as she added the sheepish addendum.

Andrew cleared
his throat, forcing down his shock and disorientation. “I do remember you.
You’ve changed a lot.”

“I grew up.”
Her voice and manner were soft, as he remembered, but she seemed perfectly
poised. He couldn’t reconcile this woman with the plain, shy girl he
remembered.

“I work at the
Cane College library now,” she continued, “I was just talking to Thomas about
the Geneva Bale manuscript. He mentioned you’re interested in acquiring it.”
She lifted her inflection at the end like a question.

“Yes. I am.”

“I’ve been
working with the Harrison family for months now, arranging for the sale of the
manuscript to the library for the Bale collection.”

Andrew arched his
eyebrows, noting her cool tone and the disapproving expression in her eyes.
“That’s unfortunate. It’s only fair to let you know that I’m committed to buying
it.”

She brushed a
stray wisp of hair back from her forehead. “Manuscripts like this are not
financial investments. Their value is in what they offer to history and
literary studies. Private collectors hide them away from the world. Libraries
make them part of the rich body of knowledge—which is essential for the
advancement of learning in these fields.”

She’d stepped
forward out of the fall of sunlight, and he realized how much he’d been
mistaken on first sight of her. She was indeed pretty—with classic features and
perfect skin—but her radiance was merely a trick of the light.

She looked
almost prim now, in her outdated hair and outfit, and she’d actually spoken to
him with condescension and disapproval.

Andrew was
accustomed to supervising, to leadership, to being in authority. He certainly
didn’t appreciate being lectured by a small-town librarian like he was a rowdy
little boy.

He gave her a
stern look that always cowed his subordinates. “That sounds very impressive, but
you have no idea what I plan to do with the manuscript after I buy it.”

His tone ruffled
her, annoyed her, rather than intimidating her as he’d expected. “The library
has the best collection of Bale artifacts in the world. Whatever your
intentions, the library is where the manuscript belongs.”

“I disagree.”

Helen was angry
now. She was suppressing it well, but the color in her cheeks had deepened and
her hands had fisted at her sides.

Andrew wasn’t
happy with her either. He’d been hoping this purchase would go smoothly, but
she was clearly going to put up a fight.

He remembered
the way Thomas had been looking at her before. She might have more advantages
than he’d expected.

Stiffening his
spine, Andrew started to work out a different strategy. Helen would find him a
formidable adversary. He certainly wouldn’t cave like Thomas to a captivating
blush or the tilt of a pretty mouth.

“It’s bound to
be awkward,” Thomas put in, distracting them from the gaze that neither Helen
nor Andrew had been willing to break first. “But I’m sure we can work something
out.”

He was
obviously trying to placate them. But Andrew knew there was no way to work this
out to everyone’s satisfaction.

Only one of them
could buy the manuscript, and he intended for it to be him.

***

“He made me so mad!”

Helen’s
father—who everyone in the community referred to as Pastor Jack—leaned back in
his desk chair with a familiar expression in his eyes. Half sympathy, half
skepticism.

“You should
have seen him,” she continued vehemently. “He was actually wearing a suit. In
Cane! As if that was supposed to impress us. And he spoke to me like I was one
of his employees, like I was an inferior. And his eyes were so cold and
arrogant.”

After the encounter
with Andrew Cane, she had walked down the block to First Church, where she knew
her father would be in his office working on his sermon for Sunday.

She’d been
annoyed and frustrated and had needed a sympathetic ear and the opportunity to
vent. Ever since her mother had died three years ago, her father was her chief
confidant. Talking to her father usually made her feel better, but just the
memory of Andrew’s handsome, aloof face roused her anger again.

“He thinks he
can just sweep in here and take whatever he wants,” she bit out.

“You know for
sure that’s what he’s thinking?”

“Of course.
Those boys always had everything—looks, intelligence, talent, popularity. And
now he’s made a bunch of money and thinks he’s some powerful businessman. Of
course, he feels entitled to whatever he wants.” She scowled as she added, “And
he doesn’t even want the manuscript for any good reason.”

“How do you
know why he wants to buy it?”

“That’s what
he
said,” she admitted begrudgingly.

She could very
clearly visualize Andrew’s face just fifteen minutes ago—the dark gray eyes,
strong nose, tight mouth, and the distinctive line of his jaw. He’d eyed her so
coolly and distantly, as if she were barely worth his notice, and he’d refused
to listen to her strong case for why the library should acquire the manuscript.

She remembered Andrew
from when she was a child. She’d always looked at him from afar as some sort of
handsome, perfect prince. Always smiling, always at the center of attention,
always charming those around him with his charismatic personality.

The years had
matured him into something else. She’d noticed little lines by his eyes and
nose—perhaps from stress—and a tightness in his mouth that hadn’t been there
before. She certainly hadn’t seen any evidence of charm or charisma, although
he was handsome enough that she imagined he probably attracted plenty of women
anyway.

When she’d been
a child, she’d considered him eminently out of her reach, but she resented the
feeling now. She wasn’t going to cave to his sense of authority or entitlement,
and she wasn’t going to run away from him, as she had literally run on one
mortifying occasion in the back of the church when she’d been ten.

Returning to
her present conversation, she added, “Thomas said Andrew wanted the manuscript as
an investment. It’s just about money to him.”

“You know that
for sure?”

“No, but why
else would he want it? He’s not a scholar or a literary historian, and its
deeper significance seems to be meaningless to him. The manuscript belongs in
the library, and he’s just being selfish and greedy to try to take it from us.”

Her father’s
expression, more skeptical than sympathetic now, suddenly made Helen feel
ashamed of her attitude. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, looking down at her hands
in her lap. “He made me mad.”

“I can see
that.”

“I know I’m
being resentful and making assumptions and probably judging him unfairly. But I
have trouble feeling any sort of sympathy for him—and not just because of the
manuscript. He had everything, and he gave it all up. He left it all behind.”

“You think he
just gave up?” Her father’s eyebrows had lifted but there was a softer look in
his eyes now.

“Yeah. Didn’t
he? He left his father, his hometown, his faith.”

“You know his
spiritual state?”

Helen
swallowed. “Well, not personally. But everyone says…”

Her father
didn’t chide her for listening to gossip. Instead, he said mildly, “Andrew Cane
was the most devout boy I’ve ever known in all my years pastoring. That’s the
truth. Can you imagine what it must have taken for him to let his faith go,
even temporarily?”

Helen stared at
the floor and thought about that for a long time. She recalled her impressions
of Andrew from when he’d been a teenager, and she couldn’t doubt her father’s word.
So what had happened to change that?

“No,” she said
at last, raising her eyes back up to meet her father’s. “I can’t imagine. Do you
think he went through some sort of trauma or something?”

“I don’t know.
I haven’t spoken with him in years, but I can’t help but think it’s significant
that he’s finally returned to Cane.”

“He came to get
the manuscript.”

“Maybe. Or
maybe that was the excuse he used to return for deeper reasons.”

Helen silently
struggled against the resentment she still felt from her confrontation with Andrew.
“But the manuscript. What if I lose it? I’ve worked so hard.”

She felt like
crying at the thought of not getting the manuscript for the library—after all
the time, energy, and emotion she’d invested in the process.

Her father gave
her a sympathetic smile and didn’t say anything.

With a twist of
her mouth, she asked, “Do you think I should try to talk to him again? Just to
make sure there are no hard feelings or whatever.”

“It might be a
good idea.”

Something
cringed inside her at the thought. She’d tried to remain cool and confident as she’d
spoken to Andrew earlier, but she’d stumbled over her words, said a couple of
stupid things, and basically felt like she’d made a mess of it.