She gasped and he could tell she was staring at him with huge eyes. He kept his gaze firmly locked on the road in front of him. “Do you really think so?”
He nodded like he was certain, instead of shooting compliments like arrows and praying to hit the mark. “You’re welcome to stay at Red Oak Hill as long as you want,” he went on. Because, aside from a lucky compliment or two, shelter was the only thing he could offer her. “I’m usually only there on the weekends. I do have a housekeeper, but I can give her some time off if you’d rather be alone.”
She nodded, surreptitiously swiping at the tears on her cheeks. “Will anyone else in your family be there?”
Oliver laughed. “Absolutely not. Red Oak Hill is mine. No one will know you’re there.”
“Thank you,” she whispered and there was so much pain in her voice that, without thinking, he reached over and wrapped his hand around hers. She clung to him fiercely. “You won’t even know I’m there, I promise.”
Somehow, as his fingers tangled with hers, Oliver doubted that.
It would be impossible to be around Renee and not be aware of her every movement.
As soon as he got her settled, he was driving right back to Dallas. He didn’t have time to comfort Renee Preston-Willoughby.
No matter how much he might want to.
Renee had not expected this. Red Oak Hill wasn’t a long, low-slung ranch house in the middle of dusty cow pastures. In fact, she didn’t see any cows anywhere as Oliver pulled up in front of what was undeniably a grand mansion at the top of a small hill. Towering trees she assumed were red oaks cast long shadows against the sweltering Texas sun.
The house looked like something out of a magazine. And she knew quite a bit about that. Something white caught her attention on the small lake on the other side of the driveway. “Are those...swans?”
“Fred and Wilma? Yes. They came with the house.”
Renee had had a terrible day. Well, given the last five months of her life, that wasn’t saying much. But somehow, the idea that Oliver had inherited a pair of swans made her giggle. “Did you name them after the Flintstones or did they come with those names?”
He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Don’t know if you can really name swans, per se. They don’t come when called. But...” He shrugged again, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “They seemed like Fred and Wilma to me. They have cygnets this year. Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm.”
She didn’t remember Oliver having a sense of humor. Had he always been this funny? She remembered him being uptight and grumpy. A stick-in-the-mud, she and Chloe had decided once. That was Oliver Lawrence.
But was he, really? She thought back now to the water balloon fight he’d mentioned. She and Chloe had got the drop on them from the balcony—that’d been Chloe’s idea. But Oliver and Clint had retaliated with a garden hose. And Oliver had been aiming the hose.
“Renee? You all right?”
She blinked and realized that he was standing at the passenger door 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