A Damaged Trust Read online

  She would sketch everything under the sun, everything that was still or that would hold still for any length of time. Nothing would escape her eagle eye and charcoal pencil. Members of the household would sigh resignedly whenever they saw little Carrie trudging determinedly their way, a cowlick of hair falling in her eyes and a concentrated frown on her forehead. She managed to get Jack, grumble though he would, to pose for a half hour so that she could sketch him on his horse. It had been a rough drawing with dark lines and quickly penciled-in shadows, but it was the very roughness that captured the essence of the cowboy quite powerfully. She had presented it as a Christmas present to her father, and Cliff was immediately caught by the power of the picture. It was the only picture that Carrie ever drew that he could understand, but it was enough to give him a glimmer of enlightenment as to the key to her own personality. He promptly had the picture framed and hung in the large, dark brown-paneled front hall of the house where it held the position of honour and drew the attention of all that entered the house.

  He also sent Carrie to art school when she had graduated from high school so that she could study under people who would understand and guide her intelligently. It was something Cliff afterwards regarded as a mistake, for Carrie immediately began to plan for a career as a photographer. He had been sure that she would want to come back home after college and marry someone suitable from the valley to start a family of her own, under the parental regard and guidance of her loving parents—father, to be specific. It was a misunderstanding that eventually led to a glorious argument.

  Carrie had no intention of falling in with her father’s wishes, and she told him so quite emphatically. Outraged and furious at her “adolescent show of rebellion”, as he called it, Cliff threatened to cut off all of her considerable allowance, and would not pay for her last year of college. It didn’t bother her in the slightest. She merely packed her things and headed off for Chicago to start a life of her own. She called up an old acquaintance who in the past had admired her artwork and photographs, and she told him of her situation. He immediately offered her a job as a photographer for his modeling agency, and it was the true start of her career.

  Carrie loved her work, loved it so much that she would spend as much as fifty hours on the job in a week’s time. She built up a good working rapport with her models and became more and more in demand as her photographs became more and more known. Also, she worked on projects of her own and hoped to soon have an exhibition of photographs and artwork in Chicago. Negotiations with the art gallery had been arranged and all her work had been completed. All she had to do was wait for the last-minute preparations and advertisements, and everything would be all set for the opening of the exhibition in August, two months from now.

  In the meantime, she was on a much-earned and much-needed vacation for as long as she wanted. It really should have been heaven.

  It wasn’t.

  But she didn’t want to think about that now. Carrie spent the next fifteen minutes convincing herself of that as she finished her preparations for bed. She tried to ignore the fact that she would have to think about it, sooner or later, and deal with her messed-up life. There would be time to face it tomorrow. Sleep came very easily for her that night, tired as she was from driving to Grand Junction from Chicago in two days. Her slumber was deep and unbroken.

  Morning dawned with a brilliance as the Colorado sun blazed over distant mountains in a golden splash of radiance. Instantly, as the first tip of that glowing orb crested the line of mountain tops, the whole valley was awash with a vivacity of colour that changed the scene from the lavender and pastels of a watercolor painting to that of a brilliant oil, and yet was still subtle in its changing hues.

  Carrie was unaware of the magnificence of the scene outside her window, however, caught as she was in the throes of sleep. A noise gradually began to sink itself into the well of her consciousness, and she surfaced slowly back into the waking world. Opening her eyes and looking about her, still fuzzy around the edges of her brain, she moaned as she caught sight of her bedside clock.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” she grumbled, closing her eyes in horror. The early hour was enough to turn one’s stomach. The pounding at her door came again. It was too much to take lying down.

  “Do that again and I’ll break your face!” she howled at the door as she bounded out of bed, threw on her robe, strode over to yank the door open and glared threateningly at the rude intruder. Her scowl soon disappeared, though, and she slowly started to grin with delight as she took in the bulky length of Steven, her oldest brother by seven years. Of all of the Metcalfe family, Steven was her favourite, for he came the closest to understanding her. He hadn’t been home last night but had been away at the north cattle station, checking out the health of the herd there. He had been expected back some time later during the day.

  “How’s tricks?” he asked laconically, his large smile and the twinkle in his eyes belying his casual tone.

  “Steven! Back already—oh, here, let me get dressed and I’ll be out in a minute,” she exclaimed, running her hands through her hair distractedly as she made an effort to wake up.

  “Coffee’s on downstairs. Emma just made a fresh pot,” he informed her, his rumbling deep voice coming up from his chest like a small earthquake. He chucked her under the chin with a rough and affectionate hand. “See you on earth, sport.”

  “Sure—er—be right there.” She dashed back into her room and fumbled for a pair of jeans and a thin summer top. It was already warm in the room and she knew that she probably would want to change to shorts later, but that could wait. Moving quickly and efficiently, she made short work of cleaning her face and putting on some light make-up before twisting her glossy, honey brown hair up into a comfortable knot high on her head. She stood back and reviewed herself critically.

  A small-boned, slight girl looked back, her dark blue eyes long and slightly slanted and her cheekbones strong (traces of an American Indian ancestry). A mouth now held crooked but usually well positioned, and a firm, stubborn chin completed the inspection.

  “Your face is too thin,” she informed the mirror helpfully. “And you’ve got bags under your eyes.” The girl in the reflection shrugged philosophically as if to say, “C’est la vie,” and Carrie hastened to tell her, “You do have nice hair, though.” When her hair was down, it swirled around in a layered effect, a mass of curls making a halo about her face.

  Sticking her tongue out at the mirror and not waiting to see its reply, she hurried down the stairs, towards the back of the house where the huge kitchen was. She loved the design of the house with its big, open verandah that ran the length of the back side. There was a feeling of airiness in the house from the uncarpeted, glossy oak floors to the simple taste reflected in the décor. It was roomy enough for all the traffic that travelled through every day, and things were in a perpetual state of energetic chaos with the ranch hands coming in and out and her two brothers and father, not to mention her mother and Emma, the housekeeper and cook, and the girls who helped out with the housework twice a week. It was impossible to get lonely on the Metcalfe ranch, Carrie thought. You never got the chance.

  Raising a thankful prayer towards heaven for her cozy apartment waiting for her eventual return, Carrie stepped breezily into the kitchen, her face readily smiling as she found her brother sprawling in a chair beside the kitchen table, his legs easily taking up most of the large space in front of him. He was calmly demolishing a huge breakfast roll that he held in one hand while his other hand engulfed the circumference of a steaming mug of coffee. The plate beside him was empty, save for a few crumbs.

  “You didn’t save me a breakfast roll!” she scolded him lightly as she found a fresh cup of coffee poured and waiting for her.

  Steven looked surprised. “Did I eat all of them already? There were only four, anyway.” She groaned at this. He glanced at her, his face suspicious. “You never eat anything for breakfast, so what are you complaining about?”


  “It’s the thought that counts,” she told him. She moved to kiss his forehead. “It’s good to see you. How’s everything up north?”

  “Things are just fine,” he replied disgustedly. “Personally, I think it was a wasted trip, but Dad wanted me to check up on Patrick.”

  She asked, amused, “Why didn’t you tell him you thought it was a waste of time instead of giving in to him? I swear, this family has Dad so spoiled he must be rotten inside!”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference,” Steven snorted. “You know that. When Dad wants something done, he gets it done. Usually, that is. You’re the exception, you know.”

  “I think it’s good for him.” She smiled calmly. “It’s teaching him that there are some things in this world that he just can’t have.” She took a tentative sip of her coffee and shuddered. It was cloyingly sweet.

  Steven was watching her face. “I remembered that you take sugar in your coffee,” he said proudly. “Is it all right?”

  “Lovely,” she lied, unable to do anything else in the face of his attention. She settled back and tried to force some of the liquid down, but couldn’t. “Tell me,” she spoke quickly, “are you still seeing Denise?”

  “Oh, yes. Some things around here never change.” He grinned. “Same old Denise, same old romance.”

  “Steven!” Carrie tried to reprimand him in spite of her escaping chuckle, but his grin never changed.

  “Speaking of changes, I hear that there’s a new shopping centre opening up in Grand Junction. Mom tells me it’s really going to be something.”

  “Oh, it is, all right,” Steven agreed. “There’s going to be eighteen store spaces in all. Not very big, but rather exclusive, if you know what I mean. Most of them will be clothes stores, but there ought to be a sporting goods store and a small bank and probably a restaurant—for the weary shopper and all. Gabe is pushing to get it done as soon as possible so that it’ll be opened by the end of the summer. Dad doesn’t think he'll have it done, but the man’s energy is incredible.”

  “Gabe?” asked Carrie, frowning as she searched her memory. “Gabriel Jackson?”

  “Do you know him?” Steven asked, interested.

  She shook her head. “No. But Dad was mentioning him last night in a half-exasperated way—you know how he does. I take it that Dad doesn’t entirely approve of this fellow. Gabe probably doesn’t fall in with Dad’s opinions like he should! He’s got to be fairly new around here.”

  “He came to start up the new shopping centre,” Steven answered. “As far as I know, he wasn’t around before that. If he has been, I’m sure it has only been a flying visit, so to speak. He owns a private plane—s’posed to be rolling in dough.”

  Carrie shrugged indifferently. She couldn’t care less. All her life she had been given anything she had ever needed, and the idea of having money was no stranger to her. The Metcalfes were not what one would call “poor” by any means. Even when her father had cut off her allowance, she had been lucky to have the combination of talent, chance, and knowing the right people. She had never really suffered or lacked for anything.

  “Do you know if he plans on staying in the area?” she asked idly. Steven drained his coffee mug before replying.

  “He bought some property about fifteen miles from here. Remember the Carroll’s ranch?”

  “Sure. He bought that place.”

  “Lock, stock and cattle. Plans on keeping up the herd. The Carrolls moved back east.”

  “I suppose that’s no great loss.” Carrie had never liked the Carroll family; they had been too pretentious for her. Steven nodded and shifted his burly body out of the chair, heading for the coffee pot on the counter. He turned around with it.

  “More coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” She held out her partially empty cup gratefully. It would filter the horrible stuff already in her cup.

  The kitchen light, shining down from an overhead fixture, cast shadows on Carrie's thin face, making the slight circles under her eyes more pronounced and showing tense lines in the unhappy way that she held her mouth. It was an unconscious expression, caught by Steven as he glanced at her while pouring coffee into her mug. He put the pot back on its burner and took his seat again, casting another sharp look at her face as she watched her thin hands push the coffee mug gently first one way, then another.

  “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Steven asked very casually, after they had continued to chat about various light things. “How’s life in the big bad Windy City? “

  Carrie's face shifted and settled into lines of neutrality as she answered carefully, “Things are fine. My job’s going well, and I’m able to pay the rent.”

  Steven was a good deal more shrewd than the rest of the family and he saw something in his sister’s eyes that shouldn’t have been there. “Something wrong, kitten? You don’t look so convincing to me.”

  She shrugged, fighting back the urge to cry. It was very hard to keep her face normal. “What could be wrong? My career’s never been better!” It’s my personal life that’s a wreck, she thought bitterly.

  “If it’s not your career, then it has got to be something else. You may be able to act convincingly in front of the rest of the family, but you can’t lie to me. Is it a guy?”

  Twirling her cup in a circle, Carrie stared into it and tried to reply nonchalantly. “Something like that.” More like, a guy and his wife. The kindliness that Steven was showing her was almost more than she could take. The finger that was tracing the rim of her mug shook.

  “What happened, Carrie? You know you can tell me.” Steven leaned forward and stared at her until she looked up, the desperate unhappiness in her eyes striking a deep worry in him. He took her hand in between his and squeezed gently.

  “Oh Steven!” Her voice broke appallingly, and she stopped to get it under control, mentally cursing herself. She shrugged, attempting lightness. “There’s really not a whole lot to tell. We met at a friend’s party, he asked me out, and I—I guess I really fell for him. He seemed to like me too, so we saw each other pretty often for a while.” Her eyes began to harden as she now deliberately brought back the painfully recent memories. It alarmed Steven; he had never seen that kind of expression on her face before. It sat heavily on her small features, making her look older, more strained.

  “What went wrong for you?” he asked quietly.

  She laughed shortly, harshly. “His memory was defective,” she replied flippantly. “You see, he neglected to tell me he was married, that’s all.”

  “Oh God. Oh, Carrie—I’m so sorry.”

  “Are you?” she asked, the pain inside of her driving her to speak mockingly. “I’m not. At least he had enough decency to tell me—finally—before he, for want of a better word, propositioned me. At least I had enough sense to turn him down.” Barely enough sense. She couldn’t tell him how bitterly ashamed she was for having actually considered Neil’s plea. Carrie wouldn’t tell anyone that. She pulled her hand from Steven’s grasp and his fell to the table discarded. “If you will excuse me, I think I’ll go and have a swim.”

  Walking very carefully, she managed to negotiate the stairs as she fought the ache in her chest. I suppose I can be proud of myself, she thought bitterly, for not having fallen down once.

  Chapter Two

  Back in her room, Carrie sank down on her newly made bed, unsurprised to find her hands shaking slightly. She cursed herself for being a fool, but it made no difference. The pain was still there and the shaking of her hands didn’t go away.

  She had come home to escape the memories that had haunted her in Chicago, memories of Neil’s voice, the touch of his hand against the side of her cheek, the smell of his freshly shaven jaw, and the…

  “Stop it! Stop it!” She cried out at the ghost that followed her to Colorado. Whirling up and around, she looked about her as if Neil was truly in the same room. “Leave me alone!” Tears formed in her eyes, but she blinked them rapidly away, refusing to give i
n to her emotion.

  The swim. Carrie threw open the top drawer of the dresser where she had unpacked her clothes. She would go and swim, as she had told Steven she would. She would go and swim and swim until she was too tired to think anymore. Then she would soak up some of the wonderful, vibrant, life-giving sun and get some colour in her cheeks. It would do her good.

  She changed rapidly. “I love you,” Neil had said, a desperate plea in his voice. She grabbed a fresh towel from the bathroom and drew on a pair of sandals. “God knows, Carrie, if I could divorce Joan, I would. But she’d never give me a divorce, not without kicking up the most God-awful, messiest fuss she could possibly kick up.”

  Diving for the door, she ran down the stairs again and made for the back of the house. She would go through the kitchen, she decided. It was quicker. ”…and with my job, I can’t afford that kind of publicity. Politicians have to conform to the American ideal.” She burst out of the back door, leaving it open. Hurrying over to the small group of lounging chairs, she dropped her towel on one, kicking off her sandals as quickly as possible. Moving over to the large and sun-sparkly waters of the swimming pool, she drew up her arms and, without a pause, dived neatly in. “I haven’t slept with her since her accident, Carrie darling. So you see, there’s no way I could be anything but faithful to you.” She started the breast stroke, pulling on the drag of the water as hard as she could, cutting through cleanly. She was a strong swimmer. “I just couldn’t touch her after touching you, anyway, darling. Oh, sweetheart, let me love you—I ache for you. I need you so much.” Carrie had had plenty of practice at swimming, being in the water since she was a baby. It was second nature to her, as much a part of her as riding a horse, or driving. She felt a confidence in the water that most people never do. She was sure and happy in the water, never with any kind of fear of drowning or being sucked under, a nightmare that most people submerge deep in their subconscious. She knew she could make it, in the water.