Shades of Twilight (24 page)

He hadn't listened as much as he'd made a deal with her, and when she had followed through, he'd felt bound to do the same. For the first time, she wondered if he had expected her to flatly refuse, if he'd offered the deal without any expectation of having to keep it.

“Tell me how he looked,” Lucinda said again, and Roanna described him as best she could. Was it accurate, when she saw him through eyes of love? Would others find him less dominant, less powerful? She didn't think so.

Certainly Gloria wasn't sanguine about his return. It was hypocritical of her, Roanna thought, because before Jessie's death Gloria had always made a point of fussing over Webb,
declaring him her favorite nephew. But then she'd made the mistake of turning on him instead of defending him, and she knew he hadn't forgotten it.

“Where will he sleep?” Corliss drawled, interrupting her grandmother to throw another firebomb into the already volatile conversation. “I'm not giving up the suite, even if it did used to be his.”

It had the opposite effect of what she'd expected. Silence fell around the table. After Jessie's death, Lucinda had eventually roused herself to have the suite completely redone, from the carpets to the ceilings. When Lanette and her family moved in, Corliss had immediately claimed the suite as her own, carelessly remarking that it didn't bother her at all to sleep there. It was typical of her callousness that she could even think of Webb reclaiming his old quarters.

Nevertheless, Lucinda's suite was the only one that equaled it in size. Gloria and Harlan occupied a smaller set of rooms, as did Lanette and Greg. Roanna's room was just one room, a spacious one, but not a suite. Brock's room was the same. There were four remaining single bedrooms. It was a picayune problem, but status was a subtle thing. Roanna knew Webb wasn't fixated on it, but he did realize the implications and how to use the symbols of status in order to dominate.

“Even if he doesn't want it, he may not like anyone else sleeping there,” Lanette said, eyeing her daughter with a troubled expression.

Corliss scowled. “I'm not giving up my suite!”

“You will if Webb says you will,” Lucinda said firmly. “I doubt he'll care, but I want it understood that what he says goes, without any argument. Is that clear?”

“No!” Corliss said petulantly, flinging her napkin to the table. “He killed his wife! It isn't fair that he can just waltz back in here and take over—”

Lucinda's voice cracked like a whip. “Another thing I want understood is that Webb did
not
kill Jessie. If I hear such a thing mentioned again, I will ask the person who said it to leave this house immediately. We didn't support him
when he needed it most, and I'm deeply ashamed of myself. He
will
be welcomed back into his home, or I'll know why.”

Silence followed this flat statement. To Roanna's sure knowledge, this was the first time Lucinda had ever said anything about evicting any of the current residents of Davencourt. Family was so important to her that her threat demonstrated how strongly she felt about Webb's return. For guilt or for love, or for both, Webb had her unqualified support.

Satisfied that her point had been taken, Lucinda daintily patted her napkin to her mouth. “The bedroom situation is difficult. What do you think, Roanna?” “Let Webb decide when he gets here,” Roanna replied. “We can't anticipate what he'll want.”

“That's true. It's just that I want everything to be perfect for him.”

“I don't think that's possible. He would probably prefer that we carry on as normal and not make a fuss.”

“We're hardly likely to throw a party,” Gloria sniped. “I can't think what everyone in town is going to say.”

“Nothing, if they know what side their bread is buttered on,” Lucinda said. “I'll begin immediately making it clear to our friends and associates that if they value our continued friendship, they'll make certain Webb is treated politely.”

“Webb, Webb, Webb,” Corliss said violently. “What makes him so special? What about
us?
Why don't you leave everything to Brock, if you're so certain that Roanna can't handle things? We're just as much kin to you as Webb is!”

She jumped up and ran from the room, leaving silence behind. Even Gloria, who generally had the hide of a rhinoceros, looked uncomfortable at such a blatantly materialistic outburst.

Roanna forced herself to eat one more bite before giving up the effort. It looked as if Webb's “welcome” was going to be even more strained than his departure had been.

T
en days later, Webb walked in the front door as if he owned the place, which to all intents and purposes he did.

It was eight o'clock in the morning, and the sunlight poured brilliantly through the windows, giving the creamcolored tiles in the foyer a mellow golden glow. Roanna was just coming down the stairs. She had a nine o'clock meeting with their broker, who was driving in from Huntsville, and was going to go over the particulars with Lucinda prior to the broker's arrival. She had already dressed for the meeting, in a summer-weight peach silk sheath with a matching tunic jacket, and afterward she was scheduled for a county commissioner's meeting. Beige snakeskin pumps were on her feet, and creamy pearl earrings dangled from her ears. She seldom wore jewelry other than her wristwatch, but her sorority sisters had taught her the value of wearing good, understated pieces for business occasions.

The front door opened, and she paused on the stairs, momentarily blinded by the dazzling sunlight reflected on the polished tiles. She blinked at the dark figure whose wide shoulders and wide-brimmed hat filled most of the doorway. Then he stepped inside and closed the door, letting a
leather satchel drop to the floor, and her heart nearly stopped as realization dawned.

It had been ten days since he'd sent her home, and he hadn't sent advance word of his arrival. She had begun to fear that he wouldn't come after all, though Webb had always kept his word before. Maybe he'd decided the Davenports weren't worth the trouble; she wouldn't have blamed him if he had.

But he was here, taking off his hat and looking around with narrowed eyes as if assessing the changes made during the gap of ten years. They were few, but she had the feeling he noted every one. His gaze even lingered momentarily on the carpet that covered the stairs. When he'd left, it had been beige; now it was oatmeal, with a thicker and tighter weave.

The physical impact of his presence nearly staggered her. To see him standing there with the same natural assumption of authority, as if he'd never left, gave her an eerie sense of time having stood still.

But the differences in him were sharp. It wasn't just that he was older or that he was dressed in jeans and boots instead of linen slacks and loafers. Before, he had tempered the force of his personality with southern good-old-boy geniality, the way business was done down here. Now, however, he tempered it with nothing. It was there, sharp and hard, and he didnt give a damn if anyone didn't like it.

Her chest felt oddly restricted, and she struggled to breathe. She had seen him naked, had lain naked in his arms. He'd sucked her nipples, penetrated her. The sense of unreality made her dizzy again. In the week and a half since she had seen him, their lovemaking had begun to seem like a dream, but at the sight of him, her body began throbbing anew as if he had just withdrawn from her and her flesh still tingled from the contact.

She found her voice. “Why didn't you call? Someone would have met you at the airport. You did fly in, didn't you?”

“Yesterday. I rented a car at the airport. Mother and I spent the night in Huntsville with Aunt Sandra, then drove back this morning.”

The intense green gaze was on her now, taking inventory of the suit and pearls perhaps comparing the sleek stylishness of her clothes with the fashion failure she'd been as a teenager. Or perhaps he was comparing her now to the naked woman who had writhed beneath him, screaming as he brought her to climax. He'd rejected her fast enough, so the vision couldn't have been an enticing one.

She flushed hotly, then felt the color fade as fast as it had come.

She couldn't continue to stand there like an idiot. Carefully regulating her breathing, Roanna came down the last few steps to pause at his side. “Lucinda's in the study. We were going to go over some papers, but I'm sure she'll want to talk to you instead.”

“I came back to take care of business,” he said briefly, already striding down the hall to the study. “Bring me up to speed. The homecoming party can wait.” Somehow she kept her unruffled facade in place as she followed him. She didn't throw her arms around him, brokenly crying, “You're home, you're home,” though that had been her first impulse. She didn't shriek with joy or cry. She merely said to his back, “I'm glad you came. Welcome home.”

Lucinda seldom sat at the huge desk that had been her husband's, finding the overstuffed sofa more comfortable to her old bones. She was there now, leafing through several printouts of recent stock performances. She looked up when Webb entered, and Roanna, right behind him, saw the bewilderment in the faded blue eyes as she stared at this big, rough stranger who had invaded her domain. Then she blinked, and recognition dawned as brilliantly as the sunrise, bringing with it a flush of excitement that chased away the grayness of ill health. She struggled to her feet, printouts scattering across the thick Aubusson rug.

“Webb! Webb!”

This was the enthusiastic, tearfully gleeful welcome Roanna had been longing to give him and couldn't. Lucinda rushed toward him with her hands outheld, either not seeing or ignoring his shuttered expression. He didn't open his arms to her, but that didn't stop her from throwing her own arms around him and hugging him tightly, her eyes swimming with tears.

Roanna turned toward the door, intending to give them some privacy; if she and Webb had had a special relationship when she was younger, at least in her own mind, he had definitely had a strong, special relationship with Lucinda that rivaled his feelings for his mother. Even though Webb had come back for Lucinda's sake, there were hard feelings between them that needed to be settled.

“No, stay,” Webb said when he noticed Roanna's movement. He put gentle hands on Lucinda's fragile old arms and eased her away but continued to hold her as he looked down at her. “We'll talk later,” he promised. “For now, I have a lot of catching up to do. We can start with those.” He nodded to the papers on the carpet.

If there was anything Lucinda understood, it was the concept of taking care of business. She wiped her eyes and nodded briskly. “Of course. Our broker will be here at nine for a meeting. Roanna and I have made it a practice of going over our stock performances beforehand, so we are in agreement on any actions before he arrives.”

He nodded and bent down to pick up the papers. “Are we still using Lipscomb?”

“No, dear, he died, about … oh, three years ago, wasn't it, Roanna? Heart trouble ran in his family, you know. Our broker now is Sage Whitten, of the Birmingham Whittens. We've been pleased with him, for the most part, but he does tend to be conservative.”

Roanna saw the wry expression cross Webb's face as he readjusted to the nuances of southern business, where everything was tinged with personal information and family relationships. Probably he had become accustomed to a much more straightforward method of doing things.

He was already studying the papers in his hand as he strolled over to the desk and started to drop into the massive leather chair. He halted and gave Roanna an inquiring glance, as if checking her reaction to this abrupt takeover of both territory and authority.

She didn't know whether to cry or shout. She had never really enjoyed business but had nevertheless staked out her own territory. Because this was the only thing in her life for which she had ever been needed, by Lucinda or anyone else, she had worked doggedly to understand and master the concepts and applications. With Webb's return she was losing that territory, and her usefulness. On the other hand, it would be a relief not to have to sit through any more interminable meetings or deal with businessmen and politicians who questioned her decisions with barely veiled condescension. She was glad to be rid of the duty but had no idea how she was going to replace it.

She allowed none of her ambivalence to show in her expression, however, maintaining the blank wall of indifference she presented to the world. Lucinda resumed her seat on the sofa and Roanna walked over to one of the file cabinets to extract a thick folder.

The fax machine beeped and began to whir as a document printed. Webb glanced at it, then at the rest of the electronic equipment that had been installed since he'd left. “Looks like we're on the information highway.”

“It was either that or spend most of my time traveling,” Roanna replied. She indicated the computer on the desk. “We have two discrete systems. This computer and printer are for our private records. The other one”—she pointed to the electronic setup in the corner, arranged on a custom-built oak computer desk—“is for communication.” The second computer was hooked up to a modem. “We have the dedicated fax line, e-mail, and two laser printers. I'll show you the programs any time you want. There's also a laptop for traveling.”

“Even Loyal is on computer now,” Lucinda said, smiling. “The bloodlines are thoroughly cross-referenced, and his
files include breeding times, results, medical history, and identification tattoos. He'd as proud of the system as he would be if it had four legs and neighed.”

He glanced at Roanna. “Do you still ride as much as before?”

“There isn't time.”

“You'll have more time now.”

She hadn't thought of this benefit to Webb's return, and her heart gave an excited leap. She missed the horses with painful intensity, but her statement had been the flat truth: there simply hadn't been time. She rode when she could, which was enough to keep her muscles accustomed to the exercise, but not nearly enough to satisfy her. For now she had to devote herself to the intricacies of handing over the reins to Webb, but soon—soon!—she would be able to begin helping Loyal again.