Love and Glory: The Coltrane Saga, Book 3 (30 page)

“Oh, pooh, Daddy,” she laughed merrily, taking Travis by his hand and tugging him gently. “It’s my birthday. I can do anything I want.”

“I’ve a feeling,” Travis whispered as they moved away from Jordan’s disapproving expression, “that you do what you want even when it’s not your birthday.”

“Of course.” She beamed up at him as they entered the ballroom. Moving through the throng of guests, Travis took her in his arms and they began to dance. The other dancers did little to hide their curiosity.

“You dance divinely,” she murmured, giving him a melting gaze. “I knew you would. I knew the first time I saw you that you’re the kind of man who was born knowing how to please a woman…in every way,” she added clearly.

He was amused. “And what do you know? You’re hardly more than a child, Alaina.”

“Oh, am I?” She feigned offense. “You’ve never known the likes of a woman like me, Travis Coltrane. Perhaps I will prove it to you.”

He grinned at her crookedly. “You make that sound more like a threat than a promise.”

“It could be both. You will just have to wait and see.”

He chuckled softly, and, as the music ended, he released her. Stewart Mason suddenly appeared, quite annoyed. “Your father is ready for the champagne toasts,” he snapped, ignoring Travis. “And the cake is ready to be cut. Come with me.”

She slipped her hand in Travis’. “Come along and help me cut the cake. It’s enormous. Daddy had it made by a baker in Louisville, and it took four men just to lift it from the wagon.”

“Alaina, don’t be absurd!” Stewart snapped furiously. “A stranger has no business helping you cut your birthday cake. Have you lost all sense of decorum?”

She whirled on him. “What do you know of decorum, Stewart Mason? You were nothing but a grubby redneck till Daddy picked you up and gave you a decent job!”

Stewart hissed, “How dare you, Alaina? Now, stop behaving like a spoiled brat or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” she challenged him, still holding onto Travis’ hand. “Now, stay out of my business, Stewart. The marshal is my house guest, and if I ask him to cut my cake, he will.”

Stewart looked at Travis then, silently sending him a dare.

Travis took his hand from Alaina’s. Damn, the last thing he wanted right then was a scene with Mason. Travis had never backed off from a fight, but he did not believe in provoking them, either, especially not silly ones. “Go along with Stewart,” he said to Alaina, stepping back. “I’ll see you later.”

He turned quickly before she could argue and hurried through the open doors that led out to a vine-shrouded terrace. With a sigh of relief, he stepped to the shadows and pulled a cheroot from his coat pocket and lit it. Watching the smoke spiral skyward into the purple night, he was grateful for a few moments of peace.

He reflected on the conversation with Barbeau and decided the man was lying. While Travis could not put his finger on exactly why he sensed the man was behind the Klan activities, it was a gut feeling that told him to be on guard. Stewart Mason, he felt, was very much involved. Alaina had said that he was nothing until her father took him under his wing. Why would Jordan Barbeau do that except to have a man he could trust? Someone to do his dirty deeds?

Suddenly a movement beyond the low stone wall surrounding the terrace caught his eye. He could just barely make out a woman in the darkness. She spoke. “Well, Marshal, what are you doing out here alone? I hope you’re not trying to think of a way to cope with my precocious sister. It’s a waste of time.”

She laughed softly, stepping onto the terrace, then moved closer. “Forgive me. I wasn’t spying. I like to walk at night, and I do get tired of all the noise and smoke of parties. I’m Marilee. Alaina’s sister.”

Travis saw a slight resemblance but nothing that would have told him the two were related. Marilee was taller and definitely older by at least three or four years, and he sensed that she had experienced more of the tragedies of life than Alaina. Perhaps it was Marilee’s eyes, a dull brown that one day long ago might have sparkled. Her hair was chestnut, pulled back into a severe bun at the nape of her neck. He could tell nothing of her figure, for she wore a high-necked, bulky black dress, with long sleeves. The drab gown served to make her appear even more somber than she already was.

“My pleasure,” he bowed slightly.

She laughed again, but the sound was hollow. “When Alaina is around, there is no room for anyone else. Oh, I don’t mean to sound envious. I love Alaina dearly, but she does have her ways.

“I watched the two of you when you were dancing,” she went on. “I know her, Marshal, and she has designs on you.”

Travis felt uncomfortable.

“I know it’s none of my business,” she hastened to add, “but I feel I must warn you that Alaina is trouble. So is her fiancé, Stewart Mason.”

“Why are you taking the trouble to tell me this?” he asked, looking down at her curiously. Perhaps, he thought, she really was envious of her sister. By comparison, she looked like a spinster.

To his surprise, Marilee smiled as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. Then she astounded him even more by saying, “I’m not envious of Alaina, Marshal. Actually, I feel sorry for her. She’s looking for something she will never find unless she discovers herself first. As for why I am telling you this, I feel obligated to keep you from being hurt.”

“Hurt?” he laughed shortly. “Who is going to hurt me, Miss Barbeau?”

“It isn’t ‘Miss Barbeau,’” she corrected evenly. “It’s Mrs. Traylor. But call me Marilee, please.”

So, he thought. She was no spinster.

“Kentucky is a dangerous place for those who oppose the views of the Klan,” she went on in a quiet voice. “I don’t think you know how dangerous, especially around here. You have enough to do without becoming involved with Alaina.”

“Suppose you explain just what you mean, Marilee.”

For the first time, she appeared nervous as she answered. “If you don’t spurn Alaina’s advances, you will only provoke Stewart and my father. I’m telling you this for your own good. You’re an outsider. You have come here to interfere. You aren’t welcome, but that’s not going to change whether my sister takes a fancy to you or not.”

“You do get right to the point,” he said. “But what about you? Do you also find my presence an imposition?”

“I couldn’t care less, Marshal.”

“And how about your feelings regarding the Negroes? Do you feel the lynchings and beatings are the best ways to deal with Negroes?”

Her eyes narrowed, and he saw that her hands were knotted into tiny fists. “I hate it. I hate all of it. But I have no voice. Our neighbors hate me enough as it is without my preaching to them about their sins against their fellow man.”

Travis heard the bitterness immediately and urged her on. “Why would your neighbors hate you? I find you straightforward and honest. I see nothing to dislike.”

She bit down on her lower lip, closed her eyes briefly, then forced a smile. “It doesn’t matter about me, Marshal. I just wanted to warn you about Alaina. She is quite beautiful, and I’m sure you find her appealing. But you can’t know her as I do…how cunning she can be. She stops at nothing to get what she wants.”

Travis leaned against a vine-wrapped trellis and folded his arms across his chest. “Mrs. Trayler…Marilee…I find your concern for my welfare touching. But rest assured that Alaina is not the first desirable woman to come into my life. I think I can handle your sister.”

Her face tightened. “Yes, I just imagine you can, Marshal.” She lifted her chin. “Suppose I just leave you to handle your own…
affairs.”

She whirled about so quickly that there was no time to see that Alaina had stepped onto the terrace. The sisters collided.

“Oh, Marilee, watch where you’re going! You’ll muss my dress!” Alaina cried, eyes darting to Travis, then returning to her sister. “Just what are you doing out here with
my
guest?”

“Being polite,” Marilee replied nonchalantly, breezing by to disappear inside.

Alaina shook her head and hurried to Travis, who was still leaning lazily against the trellis. “Oh, that girl!” She glanced back over her shoulder in disgust. “I do wish she would find a beau of her own and stop flirting with every man who comes to call on me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “She just introduced herself to me as Mrs. Traylor.”

“She’s a widow. Her husband was killed in the war. She will probably never marry again. She’s turned into such a shrew. You should hear some of the fights she and Daddy have over her being such a nigra-lover. Just like Donald. When he got killed, Daddy said it was good enough for someone who would go off to fight for the damn Yankees.”

“I fought for the damn Yankees, as you call them,” he said drily.

She moved closer, placing her fingertips on his shoulders as she whispered, “I know. But that doesn’t matter. You were just a soldier. Doing your job. You couldn’t really have
cared
one way or the other.”

“As a matter of fact, I did care. Very much. I still do.”

She stood on tiptoes, her lips, moist and inviting, inches away from his face. “Oh, Travis, do we have to talk of unpleasant things?” she murmured huskily, thrusting her breasts against his chest. “I think we can find more interesting things to do.”

He felt the familiar burning in his loins. Damn, he wanted her. What man wouldn’t? Beautiful. Desirable. And he could tell she was every bit as hungry as he was. Sheer masculine need moved him to gather her in his arms. His lips crushed hers.

Her fingers moved up to trail along his neck, body melding into his. He held her tightly for a moment, then withdrew. “I think we should return to your party. After all, you are the guest of honor.”

Gasping slightly, she patted her hair nervously, face flushed. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right. Come. Let’s dance.” She led the way from the terrace.

It was during their second waltz together that Travis felt a hard tap on his shoulder. Stewart was standing behind him, grim-faced. With a mock bow, Travis stepped aside and headed to the corner table, where there were liquid refreshments.

He made small talk with the few men who introduced themselves. There was no mistaking the hostility directed at him as they asked questions about his investigation. He told them only that he was there to do a job, and intended to do it. Looks were exchanged, and a few began to mutter to one another. He caught a glimpse of Marilee standing to one side, watching him with…what? Amusement? Anger? He could not quite fathom her expression.

He approached her and held out his hand, relieved to get away from the table. “Would you care to dance with me, Marilee?”

The smile she gave him was almost sad. “It’s very kind of you to take pity on a wallflower, Marshal, but no thank you. I don’t need your pity.”

He laughed shortly. “Who said I felt pity for you?”

“It’s in your eyes. I can always tell what a man is thinking by his eyes. No thank you, Marshal. I don’t need your sympathy. I don’t need anything from you.”

She turned and walked away, leaving Travis standing there feeling foolish and angry. Who the hell did she think she was?

He had almost made up his mind to leave when a short, bald man walked up to him, acting nervous. He introduced himself as Norman Haithcock, a farmer. He darted anxious glances around the room, as though afraid someone was watching, and began to ask questions about “the investigation.” Had Travis found any clues?

Travis was noncommittal, giving the standard answers, all the while observing Norman Haithcock. He seemed genuinely concerned. Here, perhaps, was an ally.

Travis was so engrossed in listening to everything the man had to say, about the weather or the government, that he did not realize the ballroom was nearly empty until Jordan Barbeau approached.

“Well, you two have really been deep in conversation,” he said with mock joviality, his eyes glowering. “Seems everyone has left but you, Norman, and it’s time I was showing the marshal to his quarters.”

Norman Haithcock nearly stumbled in his haste to say good night and depart. Jordan watched him with pursed lips, then said, “I hope he did not bore you, Marshal. He’s not very bright, I’m afraid. I invited him only because his land borders mine on the southeast, and I always try to be neighborly. Actually, folks around here don’t have anything much to do with him.”

Travis kept silent.

“Now then,”
Jordan went on, “my daughter tells me you are staying the night. Come along, and I will show you where you will sleep.”

Travis followed him up the stairway to the second floor, to the third, and finally to the top floor of the enormous mansion. “I always put our guests up here in this wing,” he explained as he flung open the door to a well-lit suite. There was a parlor, and to either side of the parlor were two bedrooms. “You have a splendid view of the mountain range to the east. It’s quite lovely when the sun rises,” Barbeau said proudly.

A young Negro woman emerged from one of the bedrooms, curtsied, and disappeared.

“Selma has turned down your bed,” Jordan said, backing toward the door, his hand on the knob. “In the morning, I will have my personal valet bring your bath water. Breakfast is served at eight. I imagine Alaina will want to take you riding. I have some highly prized animals in my stables, you know.”