Authors: Nora Roberts
“O
h, don’t be mean, Cade. I’m just asking one little favor.” Faith stretched out across her brother’s bed, her chin on her fists, and aimed her most winsome look.
She’d developed the habit of coming into his room for company after Hope had died and being alone was unbearable. Now she most often dropped in when she wanted something.
They both knew it, and he didn’t seem to mind.
“You’re wasting those eyes on me.” Stripped to the waist, his hair still damp from his shower, Cade pulled a fresh shirt from his closet. “I’m using the car tonight.”
“You can use it anytime.” She tried a pout.
“That’s right, I can. And I’m using it tonight.” He gave her the smug smile reserved for irritating siblings.
“I’m the one who did the marketing for the food you stuffed in your mouth.” She scrambled up to kneel on the bed. “And went to the dry cleaners to pick up your stupid clothes, and all I’m asking is to borrow your damn car for one evening. But you’re too selfish.”
He slipped on his shirt, began to button it, with that same satisfied smile on his face. “And your point would be?”
“I
hate
you.” She yanked up a pillow, heaved it, and missed by a good foot and a half. She’d never had decent aim.
“I hope you wreck the goddamn car and end up trapped in a heap of twisting, burning metal.” The next pillow sailed over his head. He didn’t even bother to duck. “I hope glass gets in your eyes and you go blind, and if you do I’ll laugh when you walk into walls.”
He turned away from her, a deliberate and calculated insult. “Well then, I guess you won’t want to borrow what’s left of the car tomorrow night.”
“I want it now!”
“Faith, my treasure …” He tucked the shirt in, picked up his watch from the bureau. “You want everything now.” Unable to resist, he picked up the keys, dangled them. “But you can’t have it.”
She screamed, a primal war cry, and launched herself off the bed. He could have sidestepped, but it was more entertaining to brace and catch her arms before she could use those pretty, lethal nails on his face.
Besides, if he’d nipped out of her way, she’d have plowed straight, blind with temper, into his dresser. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” he warned, dancing with her as he held her trembling arms high.
“No, I’m going to
kill
you. I’m going to rip your eyes right out of your head.”
“You’ve got a real obsession with me going blind tonight. You rip my eyes out, how can I see how pretty you are?”
“Let me go, you bastard. Fight like a man.”
“If I fought like a man, I’d just coldcock you and be done with it.” To infuriate her, he leaned down to give her a quick kiss. “It’d take less energy.”
She slumped, eyes tearing up in defeat. “Oh, just let go. I don’t want your ugly old car anyway.”
“Those won’t work, either. Tears come too easy to you.” But he kissed her cheek. “You can have the car tomorrow, all day and half the night if you want.” He gave her arms an affectionate squeeze, started to step back.
And saw stars when she kicked his shin.
“Goddamn it. Jesus Christ.” He shoved her aside, tried to pace off the pain. “You sneaky bitch.”
“Be glad I didn’t go with my first instinct and use my knee. It was a near thing.” When he leaned over to rub at the sting, she made a leap for the keys still in his hand. She nearly had them, then he pivoted and her forward motion shot her past him and down onto the floor with a thud.
“Kincade! Faith Ellen!” The voice was a whip snapping on satin. Margaret stood in the doorway, body rigid, face pale. Instantly all movement stopped.
“Mama.” Cade cleared his throat.
“I could hear the shouting and the swearing all the way downstairs. As could Judge Purcell, whom I am entertaining this evening. As could Lilah, and the day maid, and the young man who’s just come to take her home.”
She waited a full beat, for the weight of the impropriety to lie heavy on the shoulders of her children. “Perhaps you feel this sort of behavior is acceptable, but I do not, and do not wish to have guests, servants, and strangers come to believe that I have raised two hyenas in this house.”
“I apologize.”
“Make him apologize to me,” Faith demanded, sulking as she rubbed her jarred elbow. “He pushed me down.”
“I certainly did not. You tripped over your own feet.”
“He was being cruel and unreasonable.” She had one shot left, Faith calculated, and meant to take it. “All I did was ask, and ask politely, to borrow his car for the evening, and he started calling me names and pushing me around.” She winced, gingerly touching her arm. “I have bruises.”
“I suspect there was more than a little provocation, but there is no excuse for laying your hands on your sister.”
“No, ma’am.” Cade acknowledged this with a stiff nod, and the regret that a foolish interlude could be pressed into such cold, implacable lines. “You’re right on both counts. I apologize.”
“Very well.” Margaret shifted her gaze to Faith’s. “Cade’s property is his to use or lend as he pleases. Now, let that be an end to it.”
“I just want to get out of this house for a few hours.” Temper spiked, spilling out of her mouth. “He can use the truck just as easy as anything else. All he wants to do is
drive someplace dark and quiet so he can grope Tory Bodeen.”
“That’s pretty talk, Faith,” Cade murmured. “Very attractive.”
“Well, it’s true. Everyone in town knows the two of you are at each other.”
Margaret took two steps forward before her control snapped back. “Are you—-do you intend to see Victoria Bodeen tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Could you be unaware of my feelings about her?”
“No, Mama. I’m not unaware of them.”
“Obviously those feelings don’t matter. The fact that she played a part in your sister’s death, the fact that she is a constant reminder of that loss, mean nothing to you.”
“I don’t blame her for Hope’s death. I’m sorry that you do, and sorrier that my friendship with her causes you any pain or distress.”
“Save your sorries,” Margaret said coldly. “Sorry is nothing but an excuse for poor behavior. You may choose to bring that woman into your life, but you will keep her out of mine. Is that understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice iced in a direct reflection of hers. “It’s well understood.”
Without another word, she turned and walked away, her footsteps measured and slow.
Cade stared after her, wishing he hadn’t seen that one quick flash of grief in her eyes. Wishing he didn’t feel responsible for it. To cut at the guilt, he shot Faith one violent look.
“Very nice job, as always. Be sure to enjoy your evening.”
She squeezed her eyes shut as he strode out. There was a hole in her stomach, burned there by her own thoughtlessness. For a moment, she indulged herself, sat and rocked, then she leaped up, dashed toward the stairs. And heard the front door slam.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, and sat on the landing. “I
didn’t think. I didn’t mean it. Don’t hate me.” She dropped her head on her knees. “I already hate myself.”
“I hope you’ll pardon the behavior of my children, Gerald.” Margaret swept back into the main drawing room where her old friend waited.
There would have been no such outbursts in his house when his children lived under his roof. But then, he thought, his daughters had been raised to behave as ladies at all times.
Still, he offered Margaret a sympathetic and affectionate smile. “No, Margaret, no need to apologize. Just high spirits.” He took the glass of sherry she’d set down before going upstairs and offered it back to her.
There was music playing on low. Bach. A favorite of both of them. He’d brought roses, as he always did, and Lilah had already put them into the Baccarat vase on the broad sweep of the piano.
The room, with its deep blue divans and old, polished wood, was perfect, peaceful, and precisely as Margaret demanded. The piano was rarely played, but kept in tune just the same. It had been her wish that her daughters become accomplished on that instrument, but there she had been disappointed.
There were no family photos in this room. Every memento had been carefully selected for how it would fit into the scheme so that heirlooms blended seamlessly with her own acquisitions.
It was not a room where a man would prop his boots on a table, or a child would scatter toys on the rug.
“High spirits,” she repeated. “It’s kind of you to say so.” She paced over to the window, watched Cade’s car roar down the drive. Dissatisfaction scratched her skin like wool. “I’m afraid it’s a great deal more, and less, than high spirits.”
“Our children grow up, Margaret.”
“Some of them do.”
He said nothing for a moment. He knew the subject of
Hope was never an easy one for her. And as he preferred things easy, would let it drift by as if it had never been said.
He’d known her for thirty-five years, and had once, briefly, courted her himself. She had chosen Jasper Lavelle, who had been wealthier and with bluer blood. It hadn’t put more than a hitch in Gerald’s stride, or so he liked to think.
He’d had ambitions even then, as a young lawyer. He had married well himself, raised two children, and had been comfortably widowed for five years.
Like his old friend, he preferred his widowed status to marriage. So much less demanding of time and energies.
He was a tall and strapping sixty with the dramatic features of enormous black eyebrows that winged up like ruffled feathers on his otherwise dignified, square face.
He had made the law, all the ins and slippery outs of it, his life, prospered and carved out a respected niche in the community.
He enjoyed Margaret’s company, their discussions of art and literature, and was her usual escort at events and affairs. They had never exchanged more than a cool sociable kiss on the cheek.
For sex he enjoyed the favors of young prostitutes, who exchanged sexual fantasies for cash and remained nameless.
He was a staunch Republican, a devout Baptist. He considered his sexual adventures a kind of hobby. After all, he didn’t golf.
“I don’t know that I’m good company tonight, Gerald.”
He was also a creature of habit. It was their night for a quiet dinner at Beaux Reves, a dinner that would be followed by coffee and a pleasant thirty minutes in the gardens.
“I’m too old a friend for you to worry about that.”
“I suppose I could use a friend. I’m upset, Gerald. Victoria Bodeen. I had hoped I could resolve myself to her coming back to Progress. But now I’ve learned that Cade is seeing her, socially.”
“He’s a grown man, Margaret.”
“He is my son.” She turned back then, her face hard as stone. “I won’t have it.”
He nearly sighed. “It seems to me that if you press the matter with him, you’ll make it, and her, too important.”
“I don’t intend to press it with him.” No, she knew what needed to be done, and would see to it. “He should have married your Deborah, Gerald.”
It was a mutual regret, mild on his part, and made him smile sadly. “We might have had grandchildren together.”
“What a thought,” Margaret murmured, and decided she could use another sherry.
Tory was waiting for him to drive up. She had it all figured out. It always took a bit of time and distance for her to realize Cade had maneuvered her. He did so very smoothly, very quietly, and very skillfully. But it was still maneuvering.
She’d been in charge of her life for too long now to allow anyone a turn at the wheel.
He was a nice man, and she couldn’t deny she enjoyed his company. She was proud of how calm and mature that sounded when she practiced it in front of her mirror. Just as she was pleased with the rest of the little speech she intended to make.
She was simply too involved with setting up her new business, establishing herself in town, reacquainting herself with the area, to put any time or effort into a relationship with him, or anyone else.
Naturally she was flattered he was interested in her, but it would be best all around if they simply stepped back now. She hoped they’d continue to be friends, but that was all they could be. Now or ever.
She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. She could bring his taste back. She was good at bringing tastes back, even when she didn’t want to be.
The hot, sweet flavor of the windfall peaches under the twisted old tree by the river outside of town. Bees, drunk on the fermented juice, swarmed the fallen fruit and buzzed cozily.
She hadn’t expected his taste to be as hot and sweet, or as potent.
She hadn’t expected to be linked so perfectly with him for that moment, as if he were one of the missing pieces of the puzzle of her life.
That was romanticizing the casual, she reminded herself. It was foolish to pretend she hadn’t imagined what it would be like to kiss him. She was human, after all.
She was normal.
But when she’d imagined it, everything had been rather mild and pleasant and simple. The reality of it hadn’t really been a kiss at all, but more of a sample. And she supposed he’d done that on purpose, just to intrigue her.
Clever of him, she decided. He was a clever man. But it wasn’t going to work.
She was ready for him now, and her mind was set. There was no temper or embarrassment to blur her senses. She’d walk outside when he pulled up. In that way she’d block him from coming inside and having any opportunity to confuse the issue again. She’d make her tidy speech, wish him well, then go back inside and close the door.
And stay where it was safe.
The plan put her at ease again, in control again. So when she heard him drive up, she gave a little sigh of relief. Everything was about to be put back in order again.
Then she stepped out, saw his face.
He sat in the pretty convertible, his streaked mass of hair already windblown, his hands resting on the wheel. He gave her an easy smile, but behind it she saw anger and frustration. Most of all she saw bitter unhappiness.
No maneuver he could have devised, no plan he could have calculated, could have hit her weakness more effectively.
“That’s one of the things I like best about you, Tory. You’re prompt.” He got out, started to round the hood to open the passenger door.