Stroke of Fortune (10 page)

“Here. I'll take her.”

Josie handed her over. “Your mama's no fool, Flynt. She knows that you don't put a lighted match to kindling unless you plan on startin' a fire.”

Flynt cradled Lena close, cupping the back of her head, damned irritated with his mother—and more than a little put out with Josie, as well. “Why didn't you tell me this before?”

She drew her shoulders back, the way she always did when she felt challenged. “I am not someone who carries tales to a man about something his mother has done. And I told you, she never said a thing I could put my finger on, anyway. I was reading between the lines.”

“You should have told me.”

“Well, I am telling you now.” Those proud shoulders drooped a little. Lena giggled and then cooed, the sounds soft and sweet, right next to his ear. Josie stared up at him, eyes wide with apprehension. “And I'll tell you something else. You'll be hearing more about what your mother thinks of what's going on between the two of us. And it won't be vague or polite.”

What could he say to that? He knew she was right.

She gave a sad little shrug. “I'd better get ready to go.”

She left him standing there, holding the baby—and hoping that maybe his mother would have sense enough to think twice before butting in to a situation she didn't understand and had no business meddling in, anyway.

That night his father asked for a word with him in the downstairs study.

F
ord stood from behind his massive cherrywood desk—a desk that Carson patriarchs had been sitting at since the days when Big Bill rolled his wheelchair up to it. “Cigar, son?” Ford flipped open the humidor that waited on the desk's outer edge.

Flynt dropped into a studded leather wing chair facing his father. “You know Ma would have a fit if you actually smoked one of those things.”

Ford shook his white head in deepest regret and shut the cigars back up in their climate-controlled case. “'Fraid you're right. I'm not allowed any damn fun anymore.” Since Ford's heart surgery, Grace watched his diet, carefully monitored his alcohol in-take and strictly forbade his use of anything that involved tobacco products. Ford kept the cigars on his desk now for show and so he could hand them out to guests. He was, after all, a Carson born and raised. He had a cattleman's image to uphold and that image included being able to offer a good smoke when the occasion demanded.

Flynt asked, “What did you want to talk to me about, Dad?” As if he didn't damn well know.

Ford cleared his throat—a thoughtful kind of sound. He sat again, settling back in his huge high-backed oxblood-red leather swivel chair.

Flynt waited. Sometimes his father took a while to work himself around to the point. There was no sense in trying to hurry him up. He'd get there when he got there.

Ford leaned back farther, rested his elbows on the padded chair arms and pondered the brass chandelier overhead. Flynt waited. Eventually Ford shifted in the chair, sitting forward, resting both forearms on the desk pad and folding his beefy hands together. “Son, you've got your mother pretty worried.”

Flynt said nothing. There was nothing to say, really, other than Oh? or I have? or Why is that?—all questions that would ultimately have no effect at all on the lecture his father was gearing up to deliver.

“She saw you with Josie Lavender today.” Ford had scrunched his heavy eyebrows together, giving him a look both grave and reproachful. “Your mother is certain she interrupted what would have been a passionate kiss.”

Again Flynt said nothing.

Ford indulged in a second throat-clearing cough. “All right. First, I suppose, I need to just ask you. How far has it gone?”

Flynt let a moment of weighted silence elapse before answering, “That's none of your business, Dad.”

“Of course, it's my business. You're my son. This is my house.”

Flynt couldn't let that last pass. “Hold on, Dad. I thought we'd settled all that about the house years ago. The way I remember it, we agreed that my wing of the house is
my
house, not yours. If you've decided to change the rules on me, there's no problem. I'll find someplace else to—”

“Now, now. Let's not go saying things we don't mean.”

“Trust me, Dad. I mean what I'm saying. Either my wing is my own, or it's not. And if it's not, I'll move out.”

“Now listen here. No one wants you moving out. It's just that your mother's been concerned about Josie Lavender ever since you insisted on hiring her.”

“Why?”

“You know damn well why.”

“Josie's great with Lena. She works hard. She's also dependable. I know I can count on her.”

“Last year, she—”

“Forget last year. She's working out fine now and that's what matters.”

Ford's eyebrows scrunched up tighter. “Look. Let's stop circling the subject here. Just be straight with me. Are you having an affair with that girl?”

That question, Flynt could answer. “No.”

Ford leaned closer across the desk and pitched his voice low. “But you're headed there. Right?” He
barreled on, not even pausing to wait for an answer. “What you're doing is wrong, and you know it. We've brought you up better, your mother and I. In this house, we don't take advantage of the help. Josie Lavender is a beautiful and sweet girl, I know she is. But I also know damn well you don't have marriage on your mind. And since marriage is out, all that's left is a love affair. And that's not fair to Josie. She hasn't had it easy in her life, and you know it. She seems to me to be someone who is only trying to live her life with some degree of dignity. And you have to remember your position in this community. You have no right to go taking advantage of those less fortunate than you are.”

“I'm not taking advantage of anyone.” And he wasn't. Not currently, anyway. Last year was another story. But Ford didn't even know about last year.

“I beg to differ, son. She is the nanny and you are the boss. You're the one with the power and she depends on you for her living. And there's no question of marriage, under any circumstances. That, to me, is taking advantage.”

Flynt decided he might as well go ahead and state his intention. “Dad, you've got it wrong. Chances are, I will marry Josie.”

Ford sat up ramrod-straight. “You'll
what?
”

“If things…work out between us, I'm going to make Josie my wife.”

“You can't mean that.”

“I can and I do.”

“Son…” Ford sat back in the chair again. Now he looked infinitely sad. “I understand. I do. You have no idea how well. Once, years ago—before I ever met your mother—there was someone else. I would have married her, but circumstances intervened. And I'm grateful every day of my life that they did. Your mother was the woman for me. Born to a good family, well brought-up, kind-hearted and smart, not to mention so beautiful she still takes my breath away.”

“Dad—”

“No. Wait. Let me finish, now. I'm trying to tell you that your mother is just exactly the woman I needed at my side. And every day of my life I'm grateful I didn't blow my chance with her before she even came along. There'll be someone for you, too. You'll see. An equal. Someone who will fit in with your family. Someone who will know how to handle herself in the circles you travel in.”

Flynt couldn't take it anymore. “Someone like Monica, you mean.”

Ford did some sputtering. “Well now, son, you and I both know that Monica—”

“She was a Waverly of the damn Atlanta Waverlys. She fit in around here and she fit in big time. She was everything you and Ma ever dreamed you might get in a daughter-in-law. And my marriage to her was a complete disaster.”

“Monica was…high-strung.”

“I'm not blaming Monica.”

“Well, now, neither am I.”

“I'm saying that the marriage was no good. And Monica's ‘fitting in' and having ‘the right upbringing' and being born to ‘a good family' didn't matter one damn bit. We wanted different things and we made each other miserable.”

“Yes. And you're still confused by all that, by what happened with Monica. Your mother and I would hate to see you make a wrong choice on the rebound. There has to be some…common ground, in a marriage. There has to be shared experience and similar expectations of life. The two should have an understanding of each other's—”

Flynt had heard all he intended to hear. He stood. “Dad, what you're really trying to tell me here is that Josie isn't good enough to marry a Carson. And I'm telling you that she damn well is good enough. More than good enough. If there's anyone
not
good enough in this match, I'm it.”

Ford shook his head. “You're too hard on yourself. You've always been that way. I know a lot of things didn't work out the way you think they should have. But that doesn't mean you have to compound the problem by hooking up with a woman who is completely unsuited to you.”

Flynt felt his temper rising. He ordered it down. “Have a little respect, Dad. Give a man the right to
make his own decisions about who's suited to him and who's not.”

“You're making a big mistake.”

“I'm doing what I think is best.”

Ford's tanned, lined face had a mournful cast now. “You have that look, son, that look that tells me you've made up your mind and there'll be no changing it.”

“You've got it right, Dad. Chances are, I'll marry Josie Lavender. You and Ma had better start getting used to the idea.”

“Marriage…” Ford ran one of those beefy hands down the front of his face. Then he sat up straight again, eyes narrowing as awareness dawned. “Wait a minute.”

Flynt's gut tightened. “What?”

“The baby…”

Flynt kept his face absolutely blank.

But Ford was catching on, anyway. “It's the baby, isn't it? This has to do with little Lena, doesn't it? Tell me now. You want a mother for that baby and you've settled on Josie.”

Flynt gave his father only silence.

“My God.” Judging by his slack-jawed expression, Ford had put a little more of it together. “Flynt Carson, is Josie Lavender that baby's mother?”

Flynt pointedly refused to answer.

Ford let out a heavy sigh. “You're not going to tell me, are you?”

“No, Dad. I'm sorry. Looks like you'll just have to let me live my own damn life.”

“But she
could
be the mother, right? And that's why the poor girl left out of nowhere last year. Because you took advantage of her and then either sent her away or she ran off on her own.”

Ford had hit the nail on the head and driven it straight home. But Flynt only stared at him, admitting nothing.

Ford let out a low growl. “What in hell is going on around here?”

“I've said all I can say for right now.”

“You've said exactly nothing.”

“Sorry, it's the best I can do.”

Flynt went straight to his own wing of the house. He found Josie sitting in the rocker in the baby's room, rocking Lena off to sleep.

She'd run up the shades and turned off the lamps. The soft glow of moonlight and the slight spill of brightness from the hall sconces provided the only light. Still, he could see them both clearly enough in the silvery dimness.

Josie saw him, too. She put a finger to her lips in a signal for silence. He nodded and entered the shadowy space, then waited as she rose from the rocker and carried the baby over to the crib. She laid Lena down and then remained there, hovering over her, looking down, moonlight slanting across her hair and
cheek, making them gleam, her hair like spun silver, her cheek like the petal of a white, white rose.

Finally she straightened.

“Asleep?” he whispered.

“Mmm-hmm.”

He held out his hand. She looked at it, suspicious and yet eager, too. He knew exactly how she felt.

“Let's go where we can talk.”

Slowly she reached out and laid her hand in his.

He led her to the sitting room and pulled her down onto the sofa.

She looked in his eyes. “What happened?”

Was there any point in telling her the things that his father had said? If there was, he couldn't see it.

He knew his parents. If he married this woman, they'd accept it. Eventually. They might have their own somewhat snobbish ideas about what sort of woman he should hook up with, but both Ford and Grace Carson were fair people at heart. Besides, Josie already knew how Grace felt about the two of them. No need to beat a dead horse.

The point now, as Flynt saw it, was to make it clear to everyone that he wasn't sneaking around with Josie. He was proud to stand beside her. This was no backstairs romance—or at least, it wasn't anymore. When the truth came out about Lena, they would have to present a united front. Might as well get started on that.

“I want you to go out with me,” he told her. “To
morrow night. We'll go to the club, to the Empire Room.”

Her wide eyes got wider. “The Empire Room.” She gently pulled her hand from his. “Oh, Flynt, I don't know. The Empire room is so…formal.”

“You're right about that.” He privately considered the Empire Room overrated. The food wasn't as good as it should be; Harvey claimed to be working on that. And the décor was a little too luxurious, almost oppressively so. It was all pale blues and ivories accented with an excess of gold leaf—on the chairs, in the chandeliers, even on the ornate medallions that decorated the blue watered-silk walls. In the Empire Room, a coat and tie were required, and the ladies always dressed their best.

Josie suggested hopefully, “Maybe we could go somewhere a little more comfortable.”

“No,” he said. “We couldn't.”

The corners of her mouth flattened out. “Well, why not? I'd have a lot better time someplace we could relax a little, be easy with each other.”

He caught her hand again, captured it completely in both of his. “You said you wanted a chance for us.”

A sweet flush traveled up her smooth throat. “Oh, Flynt. I do.”

“Well, this is part of it, Josie. You and me together. And not somewhere private, not somewhere cozy or intimate, not right now. No. It's got to be out
in the open, someplace where people go to see and be seen.”

She pulled back a little, though not far, as he refused to let go of her hand. “We're making some kind of big statement here, is that it?”

“What's wrong with that? It's time people started seeing us out together.”

She was frowning. “What happened? Something happened, didn't it? Did Grace—”

“Don't worry about Grace. She's hardly said two words to me since this afternoon.”

“She's not speaking to you? Oh, Flynt.”

“I didn't say that.”

“But if she—”

“Josie, listen. She's speaking to me. Stop worrying about her.” He lifted her hand, kissed the back of it, slanted her a tender look.

That pretty flush moved up over her cheeks. But she was no fool and she wouldn't completely let go of her suspicions. “Something is going on here.”

“That's right. I'm asking you out. To the Empire Room. And you keep refusing to say you'll go with me.”