Serenity's Deception (Texas Sorority Sisters Book 1) (21 page)

B
etrayed
.

The ruse. The deception. The stark reality of such deep-rooted duplicity was hard to grasp. As far as BJ was concerned, Madelyne’s treachery was unforgiveable.

The vault receded into oblivion. The birth certificate in her hand, everything on the table revolved before her eyes and swam in her tears. The paper fluttered from her fingers to the desktop as acid ate at her stomach and bubbled up into her throat. Her arms moved to grip her waist. She fell into the chair, doubled over. Groaning softly as she rocked back and forth, the pain to her heart excruciating.

All she’d had ever known to be true had been a deliberate ploy, a preposterous charade—a lie.

BJ had never felt such anger and hate in her entire life, and hoped she never would again. She prayed it would pass, then next she rained down curses on Madelyne for her perfidy. With one word, the woman had torn down all the walls BJ had erected to keep the hurt at bay, but now the rubble had crumbled down around her feet and was tearing her life into shambles.

Lies. Horrible, inexcusable lies.

Hate filled every fiber of her being as the awful truth tore and pulled at BJ with a vengeance.

Madelyne Rose Loveless, the name on the birth certificate, had been her mother. Not a cousin or aunt as first thought, but mother. It wasn’t some young girl who didn’t know any better. It wasn’t a woman down hard on her luck that couldn’t afford BJ and had to give her away. It wasn’t even a druggie, or a prostitute, probably not even a product of rape. Plain and simple … a selfish, rich woman who didn’t want to be saddled with a child.

And the cruelty of it all? BJ could see it clearly now. The reason she was never adopted. Under no circumstances would Madelyne allow her to be adopted and taken from her. She’d sooner watch BJ waste away in an orphanage than to allow her to grow up in a loving home and with a family who would cherish and care for her. Madelyne had prevented it all.

From the moment she had read her birth certificate and saw her name,
Billy Jo Loveless,
time seemed to stand still. BJ cried out in agony. The pain pulled her apart, forcing her down into a black hole of despair she didn’t want to experience. Uncontrollable spasms shook her body as her world spiraled and plummeted to a depth of such intense emotional pain she didn’t know if she would survive … or even if she wanted to.

Everything seemed strange and weirdly unfamiliar but distorted in many ways. A bizarre unreal quality surrounded her.
Why didn’t I know? See a sign?
Yet there was none she remembered.

Never in a million years would BJ have believed Madelyne Loveless O’Connell was her biological mother—
never
. Madelyne had stood by and callously watched her own daughter grow up in an orphanage, never once uttering a word. And she had to have known where BJ was as she struggled to make her way alone in the world if Horace T. could find her so easily. For those reasons alone, BJ could never forgive her.

All this time BJ believed she had been given away by a young woman who couldn’t afford to keep her. Yet her mother was no further than the mansion up on the hill overlooking the orphanage and the kingdom Madelyne’s grandfather had built. Even the occasional visits by Madelyne to Heritage House hadn’t raised a suspicion. Madelyne never once singled out BJ. Never once treated her differently from the others. Never once claimed her as her own child.

What kind of woman could do that?

BJ didn’t know how long she sat on the chair in the cold, bare room. A noise echoed down the hall into the vault springing her into action. She stood and with her palms scrubbed away the angry tears then gazed around the room. Snatching a cloth sack from the drawer, with abrupt, quick movements, dumped the contents of the safety deposit box, along with the documents, a journal, and a packet of old letters, into the bag. She hadn’t read anything but the birth certificate, not even looked into the blue zipper container. There would be time for that later when she had more privacy, when no one could walk in on her. What rested in the bag was for her eyes only.

Still reeling from what she’d just learned, she picked up the cold metal box. The mere touch caused gooseflesh to rise on her body. She moved on weak legs toward the gaping hole that had held secrets for how long? Months? Years? Shoving the box back into place, BJ closed and locked the metal door, slipping the key into her pants pocket.

With the heavy cloth sack tucked safely in her arm, BJ walked with deliberate steps down the hall, through the lobby, and then out the bank. When Mrs. Jenkins’ called to her, BJ waved, but didn’t stop.

By rote, she started the engine, drove the short distant up the hill to the mansion. She parked the Jeep by the front steps. Hate for Madelyne and the secrecy that had hurt the small child waged a battle inside BJ doing its best to destroy the adult.

She grabbed the bag and her purse, ran into the house, headed straight to her office. Once inside, she shut and locked herself in. Her back to the door, she slid down the raised-panel wood to the floor, wrenching sobs racking her body. With as much strength as she could muster, she slung the disgusting bag as far from her as possible, doubled over and screamed into her hands.

“Why? Why couldn’t you love me?”

J
ason searched for signs of the perpetrators on the embankment and pocketed a casing from a twenty-two about midway down. At the base of the hill, he found a cigarette butt, but that could have been left by Sam. Deep beneath the scrubby mesquite, he found a piece of Reuben’s shirt snagged on a thorn. A few feet from the tree, angling away from the creek bed, he noticed two sets of footprints leading up the knoll, one with a noticeable deeper impression, as though favoring one leg.

He returned to the bunkhouse and set up another detail of men for the night, this time, two ranch hands per lookout. Sam and another one of his men placed several strategic booby-traps around the perimeter of the cattle enclosure. Whoever did the shooting, if they were stupid enough to return tonight, they’d have a surprise waiting for them.

By the time Jason completed the tasks around the ranch and fed Pepper, it was already dusk. If only he didn’t have to return to The Rose. He felt like a deserter leaving his men and the ranch so vulnerable. Not that he could do any more than the ranch hands, but he’d feel better if he were here instead of ten miles away.

If he hadn’t comingled his land with Aunt Maddy’s he wouldn’t be in such a predicament. He could thumb his nose at the inheritance and stay in his own home. However, he was too close to accomplishing his dream and wouldn’t jeopardize the family ranch.

He wished someone wasn’t killing his cattle. He wished it had been him instead of Reuben. He wished … He wished a lot of things. But most of all he wished he had someone to share his heartache over a kid that might not live through the night.

C
urled up in one of the office chintz chairs, BJ was shocked out of her stupor by a knock on the door and her name being called.
Sidney.
She wanted to tell him to go away, but no one deserved rude treatment, especially someone that had been nothing but kindness to her since she’d moved in.

“Yes?”

“Ms. BJ, Martha has baked some of your favorite bread. Would you like for me to bring it to your studio along with a cup of tea?”

 She had to get out of this room, away from the bit and pieces of family history haunting her, even if it were just for a short while. After a bit she would come back hopefully able to tackle this deceit once again.

“No. Give me fifteen minutes. But make it iced tea. And ask Martha to fix me a sandwich and set it out on the patio, please.”

“Very good.”

BJ didn’t hear Sidney move and wondered if he wanted something else. But before she could ask she heard his retreating footsteps. BJ scooted to the edge of her chair, her mind in a whirl.

 Did he know? Or was Sidney as clueless as she had been about Madelyne? She gazed down at all the contents of the safety deposit box scattered around the floor.

She knelt and gathered the jewelry, a virtual fortune in diamonds, emeralds, rubies, and other precious stones set in rings, necklaces, pins, and bracelets, and placed them in the bag. All of them, she now knew, belonged to her ancestors. Some even belonged to her biological mother.

She still couldn’t bring herself to call Madelyne her
mother
. Any woman that could be so cruel and heartless to her own child didn’t deserve the name.

The small pile from the vault held answers, some she’d read and others she would explore before the night was out, but at the moment, everything was too new … too raw.

BJ needed time to process her new identity. So far none had revealed who BJ’s father was or even how to find him. Neither did they shed light on why Madelyne didn’t love BJ enough to keep her, but did reveal Victor O’Connell wasn’t her biological father. Among the documents had been his death certificate—he died a little over two years before BJ was born.

She shoved everything except for the journal into her desk drawer then locked it. After pulling the handle to make sure the lock held, she walked out, journal in hand.

Walking out onto the terrace everything seemed different, nothing the same. The beauty of the grounds had turned to ashes. The gorgeous lake below had as much appeal as a muddy watering hole. The thoughts of Rose Mansion left a bitter taste like sour milk. Everything a reminder of Madelyne. The fresh wound in BJ sat gaping open and bleeding. And hate continued to dig inroads to her heart.

BJ moved her drink and sandwich over by the chaise lounge then eased down into the cushion, relaxing her head against the back, her thoughts jumbled. She took a bite of her sandwich, and though delicious, she found she had no stomach for food and sat it back on the dish, shoving it away.

Her fingers fanned the pages of the journal not sure she wanted to read more tonight, but her curiosity forced her on. Madelyne’s delicate handwriting flipped past her eyes until she came across a strip of pink plastic wedged in the book. On the backside was her name along with her weight, height, and birth date. Conflict warred within her. Joining the ends together, she was amazed that her arm could have been that small—the thing didn’t fit around two of her fingers.

The image of a baby in a mother’s arms caused a sharp lump to tighten in her throat, choking her. She gasped as she swallowed the pain. Waves of anger ripped through her, tearing at the foundation of her beliefs. Her fingers closed over the plastic strip until it cut into her palm. She released her grip, laying it on the table next to her iced tea and uneaten sandwich.

Why would Madelyne keep a little scrap of plastic and throw her away? Was a wristband worth more? She recoiled from the thought and the book. BJ knew why she hadn’t read Madelyne’s journal earlier. She didn’t have the stomach for it even now. But if she wanted answers, this book probably held all of them.

Picking up the journal by the edges of the hard back cover, BJ gently shook the book to see if anything more was between the pages. Nothing. But what did she expect? A letter with a declaration of Madelyne’s undying
motherly
love? Answers to fill the deep emptiness of her soul? BJ opened the book, sighed a quick prayer, then began reading.

My days are filled with attending Victor. My nights—fear and loneliness. At times I pray for him. There were times I would scream angry words at God. But I’m glad He hasn’t paid me any heed.

BJ wanted to hold tight to the hate and anger. Not allow compassion for this woman’s pain, nor think about her fears. She had many times mirrored Madelyne’s desire to rail against God for all the injustices, thinking He didn’t care. How was she any different than this woman?

At first the journal was all about Madelyne’s husband Victor and her commitment to be by his side at all times until his death. After Victor died, Madelyne wrote of her bleak loneliness, the place between life and nothingness, the big empty house. The fact Madelyne was alone and without children to keep her company seemed to weigh heavy on her mind.

You had a child … me. What was so wrong with me that you couldn’t love me?

BJ thumped the book down on her lap, dug her palms into her eyes, wishing the action would rub away the images and the worthlessness of her life.

Madelyne
. She didn’t want insight to the woman’s head nor feelings. She detested reading her journal. Yet Madelyne’s journal could hold the key to all the questions.

Past the expanse of lawn down toward the lake, the moon shimmered across the water, sparkling like millions of diamonds. A drastic contrast to the ugliness of life.

Resolve in place, she opened the journal again and tried to keep her emotions in check, to approach the book as purely information. She didn’t want emotional involvement into this woman’s past life. Otherwise it would mean caring, and that she wouldn’t do.

The book revealed a quiet, in charge, often thoughtful owner and benefactress of Heritage House. But that same caring person of the orphanage and journal was incongruent with a woman who could love and miss her dead husband and yet become the mother who abandoned her child.

Again, BJ shoved the ache and longing aside to take an analytical view at the book. She worked to divorce herself from her hate and anger.

The journal took a drastic turn. Instead of death and loneliness, Madelyne talked about her garden, nature, her walks along the pond, but it seemed to all hinge around a man, someone she hadn’t paid much attention to before but now longed for.

I don’t know what to think. He noticed me tonight without the usual pity he’d shown after Victor’s death. Do I dare hope?

My father?
BJ scrambled for answers, speed reading, searching for the man’s identity—something, anything.

For the last couple of weeks my nights have been filled with dreams of him holding me. In reality that would never happen. It would be wrong. But just thinking about him has turned my dark days into sunshine. I long for him to notice me as a woman … love me as only a man can.

Uncomfortable delving into private matters that she shouldn’t be reading, BJ wanted to quit but couldn’t. Madelyne took pains to never mention the man’s name, just a remark of how handsome and capable. Of how he always seemed to be there when she needed him, even with estate matters.

I asked him to drop by my office with the pretense of wanting his opinion. What I want is to be with him and make him notice me.

He came today. The spice of his cologne filled my office and made me heady, desiring more than I’m sure he’s willing to give.

He stood aloof but as we talked, he became a little more open. His fingers touched mine. And his touch lingered long after he had left.

Will he ever be able to see me as something other than Madelyne Loveless O’Connell? Is it wrong to encourage him?

He must have been married. Why else the shame Madelyne seems to imply?