To Love and Cherish (7 page)

She met his level gaze shyly.
“Yes,” she admitted breathlessly. “King…”

He drew her body relentlessly against his. “Don't tell me,” he said softly, “show me.”

He teased her lips apart with slow mastery, building the pressure until she moaned with hunger, until she went up on tiptoe to tempt him into increasing it even more, her body arching, aching, as it sought his, her mouth hungry and trembling, her voice breaking on a sobbing moan as it echoed the deep pleasure he was giving her.

King tore away abruptly and lifted an eyebrow as he looked over her head. His face was as hard as ever, completely unmoved by the hunger in the kiss they'd shared. That registered somewhere in the back of Shelby's whirling mind even as she heard his voice as if through a great distance.

“Did you want something?” he asked conversationally.

Danny's smooth voice replied, “Only my fiancee.”

Shelby felt her heart stop. She pulled shakily out of King's embrace and turned, darting a shy glance at Danny, who looked for all the world as if he was trying to keep from laughing. But he composed himself quickly and moved closer.

“Are you sure she wants to go with you?” King asked arrogantly.

Everything began to make terrifying sense as she saw the glitter of triumph in King's dark eyes. All of this was for Danny's benefit. It was hitting below the belt, but it seemed he'd go to any lengths to keep her from marrying his brother, even if it meant making her fall headlong in love with him. And she'd done exactly that, she realized with a cold
chill. She'd fallen into a carefully baited trap before she ever realized it.

Gathering the shreds of her pride, she lifted her head proudly. “Tell him, Danny,” she said gently. “If you don't, I will,” she threatened when he hesitated.

Danny sighed heavily, as if the timing didn't suit him. “All right.” He met his brother's puzzled eyes. “Shelby and I aren't engaged, King.”

King's hard face grew even harder. His eyes narrowed. “You're what?”

“Not engaged.” Danny stuck his hands in his pockets, looking faintly sheepish. “I engineered it to keep you people from flinging Mary Kate at my head. I thought that if you thought I was already engaged, you'd get off my back. Mary Kate's okay, but I'm not ready to get married yet.”

King looked as if he wanted to hit something. His eyes flashed fire.
“Why the hell didn't you say so, then?” he demanded fiercely.

“What's wrong, brother mine?” Danny taunted. “Frustrated because I didn't throw a punch at you for kissing my girl?”

“From where I was standing,” King said tightly, “It looked as if she was doing the kissing.”

A muffled sob broke from Shelby's lips. “Oh, you beast,” she whispered achingly, her eyes accusing and hurt as they met King's.

“What's the matter, honey, does the truth hurt?” he asked mockingly, his smile more an insult than the words.

“King!” Danny growled.

“Stay out of it,” the older man said curtly. His eyes pinned Shelby. “Why don't you go the hell back to the city where you belong? The joke's over, and it's on you, honey. I'm just grateful I don't have to waste
any more time on you to make Danny come to his senses!”

With a gasp of shame, she turned and ran into the house. Danny glared at his brother.

“Was that really necessary?” he asked gruffly.

“What the hell were you trying to do, Danny?” King demanded, ignoring the question. “You've been halfway in love with Mary Kate for years. What was this charade in aid of, to draw my attention to Shelby? I don't want her! I never did! So why the hell don't you mind your own damned business, and keep your nose out of mine!”

“King, let me explain…” Danny began.

“Go to hell,” was the cold reply. King turned on his heel and stalked off.

I
t was Saturday afternoon when Shelby walked into the apartment, tired and haggard, her eyes red-rimmed from crying. Edie was in the kitchen and came out smiling into the living room, but one look at Shelby's worn face wiped the smile clean.

“Oh, Shelby, not again,” her friend wailed sympathetically, and threw her arms around Shelby. “I'm sorry!”

“So am I,” Shelby wept. “I wish I'd listened to you.”

“What happened?”

“It's a long story.”

“I've got nothing but time,” Edie said. “Come have some coffee and tell me all about it.”

It did take a long time, because Shelby couldn't stop crying in between. And when she was through, Edie was muttering to herself.

“That horrible man,” Edie grumbled.

“He's that,” Shelby agreed tearfully. She dabbed at her eyes with a paper towel. “I never knew I could hate anybody so much!”

“Well, from now on, you let Danny come here, or you go to see him at the office, but don't go back to that ranch.”

“I never will. I swear I
never
will,” Shelby agreed miserably.
“Oh, how could he!” she groaned, and the tears started all over again.

The phone rang suddenly in the silence that followed, and Edie patted Shelby's shoulder as she went to answer it. “You just sit there, honey, I'll get it. It's probably just Andy wanting to know if he can come over tonight. We kind of had a date.”

“I can go out….” Shelby offered quickly.

“No, you can't. We'll work it out. Just drink your coffee, okay?” And she left her friend sitting at the table, looking lost and forlorn.

Edie was back in scant minutes, her face troubled. “It's for you, Shelby,” she said. “Sounds like long distance.”

Shelby sat erect with a jerk. “It's not King?”

“No. But it is a man,” came the quiet reply.

Puzzled, Shelby went to the phone
and sank down on the sofa as she put the receiver to her ear. “Hello?” she asked tentatively.

“Shelby? It's Brad. Your stepfather, remember?” he added kindly. “I…I don't exactly know how to put this.”

“Is it mother?” she asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“Is it bad?” she persisted, feeling something heavy inside her.

“Yes.”

“Tell me, then,” she said gently. Her eyes darted to Edie, who was standing quietly in the doorway, watching.

Brad hesitated, and Shelby pictured him—a tall, graying man with an inherent dignity who found her mother beautiful but just a little too flighty at times.

“She took an overdose of sleeping pills,” Brad said heavily.

“She…died ten minutes ago. Can you come?”

Shelby's fingers tightened on the receiver. Her mind whirled with memories. Her dark-eyed mother smiling in front of the cameras, a flash of black hair and olive skin, and dripping diamonds. Parties that never seemed to end with an ever-present glass in her mother's hand and angry glances directed toward the little girl who was always in the way. That last fight…

“Died?” Shelby repeated softly.

“Can you come, Shelby?” Brad repeated, his voice suddenly breaking. “I…we need to make some arrangements. There are reporters all over the place.”

“Do you know why she did it?” Shelby asked huskily.

There was a harsh sigh on the other end of the line. “They canceled her contract. The studio said she was too
old and too temperamental to stomach any longer. They'd offered her the role of a grandmother in some new film, and she threw a fit in the studio head's office. She forgot that the old days of the star system were long gone. They simply dropped her. She couldn't take that. She wouldn't even talk to me about it. The hurt went too deep.”

How like Maria Kane, Shelby thought miserably, to put her own interests first. Her beauty had been shallow like her personality. There'd been no strength in it, no steel to temper that delicate beauty. All of it had been surface. But in spite of that, she was Shelby's mother, and Shelby still cared.

“I'll be on the next plane. Are you at the house?” she asked Brad.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I'll meet you at the airport.”

“I'll be on the next flight out. I'll
call you from this end and let you know which flight I'll be on. Brad…thank you for calling.”

She placed the receiver down gently, and new tears replaced those she'd cried over King.

“Your mother?” Edie asked.

She nodded. “Suicide,” she whispered, admitting it, hating the word, hating the implication of it. “I'll have to go.”

Edie put a comforting arm around her. “You poor kid,” she murmured. “All at once…Shelby, I'll come with you.”

But Shelby shook her head. “This is something I have to do alone. I don't need anyone,” she lied convincingly. “Thank you, anyway, but I'll go by myself. And don't tell Danny,” she added. “He'd want to come, and just being connected with me right now could destroy his career. The reporters will have a field
day. A scandal like this isn't the best publicity for an up and coming conservative young lawyer. Even his monied background wouldn't save him, and you know it.”

“Don't you ever think about yourself?” Edie grumbled. “Danny wouldn't mind.”

“That's why we're not going to tell him,” she smiled. “I'm right, Edie. You know I am.”

“Knowing it won't make Danny any happier.”

“He won't know until he reads it in the papers, and then it'll be too late. And when King reads about it, he'll stop Danny from going.” She couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. “He won't let his brother get mixed up in that kind of scandal. It might damage his merger with the Culhanes.”

“His what?”

“Never mind. I've got to get my
suitcase. How lucky,” she added quietly, “that I hadn't unpacked.”

 

Brad met her at the airport and took her to the palatial estate outside Hollywood, in the hills that overlooked the city. He carried her suitcase inside, leaving her alone in the blue and white decor of the living room, with its chrome furnishings. It was like her mother somehow. Stark and lifeless. She closed her eyes briefly.

“I've moved into town, into my old apartment,” Brad said quietly. “I thought you might rather have the place to yourself, and there are two daily maids, Melissa and Gerrie—you saw them as we came in. Melissa's the little blonde, Gerrie's the brunette. They'll take care of you. Melissa's been doing the housekeeping, too, since Mrs. Plumer quit. She'll see you get meals while you're
here.” He perched himself on the edge of the sofa. “There are things we need to talk about. Burial…”

“She had a plot,” Shelby said idly, naming a local funeral home and cemetery. She picked up a picture of her mother, a flashy publicity shot in a gilded frame that showed her perfectly capped teeth.

“We set the funeral for day after tomorrow,” Brad said. “Is it all right with you if we have her friends as pallbearers?” He named six of her mother's closest male friends from years past.

She nodded quietly. “I don't mind.” She looked up into his pale eyes. “Brad, did…did she go easily?”

He smiled. “She never regained consciousness. She just went to sleep,” he said, his voice fading away. He bit his thin upper lip and the shimmer of tears dampened his
eyes. “Went to sleep. She looked so beautiful….” His voice broke. He took a deep breath and went to the bar to pour himself a drink. He offered Shelby one, but she refused.

She sat down in an armchair and stared blankly at the deep blue of the sofa across from it, so dramatic a color against the deep white shag carpet. The contrasts suited her mother.

All of a sudden, she felt a sense of terrible regret. Perhaps if she'd tried a little harder, the distance between the two of them might have been breached. But her mother hadn't even tried. Not at all.

“Did she leave a note, or anything?” she asked Brad.

He shrugged. “No note, no nothing.” He glanced at her. “No money either, I'm afraid,” he said apologetically. “You know how she liked to spend it. The house is all that's left,
and its sale will barely clear the bills.”

“It doesn't matter,” Shelby said kindly. “I have a good job, you know, and very frugal tastes.”

He flushed and looked uncomfortable. “I wasn't implying…”

“I know you better than that,” she reminded him. “She stayed with you a long time. I think she really cared, Brad.”

His eyes dropped to his glass. “As much as she was capable of caring, yes, I think she did. I'm sorry you weren't included in those vagrant affections of hers. She didn't like being reminded that she had a grown daughter. You see,” he added wistfully, “she wasn't grown herself.”

Shelby nodded. “I know.”

 

The house was terribly empty when Brad left. He and Shelby had gone to the funeral home earlier in
the evening, and she came away feeling hollow, carrying with her the sight of her mother lying there like some beautiful marble sculpture on that lacy white background. The picture haunted her, and she almost asked Brad not to go. But he was just as torn up, and looked as if he needed more than anything a few hours at his favorite bar.

The maids went to their quarters shortly after Brad left, and Shelby sat there amid all the glamour and luxury of her mother's house, and wept for the childhood she never had.

 

The phone was lying carefully off the hook. That had been necessary, because as soon as she and Brad went to the funeral home, they were besieged by reporters. It was news to most of them that the infamous Maria Kane had a grown daughter, and they went after her in droves. Where did
she live, what did she do, how did she feel about her mother's death? It was suicide, wasn't it? Did she know why her beautiful, famous mother had taken her own life?

It was an accident, Brad told them, losing his temper after they'd been hounded all the way out to the car. It was simply an overdose of sleeping pills, not suicide! But the press didn't buy it, and in spite of their attempts at evasion, a carload of eager journalists tracked them back to Maria's house.

Brad finally went out through the basement and escaped. But there were still two or three of the newsmen left outside the front door, one of them with a crew of cameramen and lights from a local television station. They'd finally given up banging on the door, but they were still calling to Shelby through it in the dark, faintly lit by the outside torchlights.
They were still waiting, like persistent vultures. Waiting.

She heard a noise outside, and, thinking it was the reporters again, she ignored it. There came a loud, hard banging on the door.

Her small hands went to her ears and she stood there in the middle of the living room and screamed. And screamed. And screamed, until the banging finally stopped. She collapsed onto the floor in a heap of beige with the silky caftan she'd found crumbling into soft folds around her slender young body as she shook with the force of the sobs she'd held back for so long. She'd never felt more alone and lost and hopeless. Her heart was breaking for what she'd never had—for love and affection and a little kindness.

Like a dam breaking in the dark, she let all the emotion flow out of her in a burst of tears. She heard foot
steps and the sound of the maid's voice, along with a deep, quiet male voice that grew steadily nearer. Then there was the thud of a door closing, and Shelby felt eyes on her bent head.

She looked up into a face she'd never thought to see again, into eyes that were narrow and dark with compassion as they traced the pathetic little figure alone on that thick, spotless white carpet.

“What…are you doing here?” she asked in a choked, husky voice, seeing him blur as the tears misted in her eyes. Remembering what he'd said to her at their last meeting, her face closed up like a petal in darkness, her eyes big and wounded and hurting as they met his.

“I came to see about you,” he said tightly.

He was wearing a dark suit, the ever-present cream Stetson clutched tight in one dark hand, his boots
gleaming in the light of the chandelier. His face was lined and haggard, as if he needed sleep, and his jaw was taut.

Her lower lip trembled, but she lifted her face proudly. “I don't need anyone, thank you,” she said in a strangled voice.

His jaw clenched. The hand that was holding his hat almost crushed the brim. “Oh, honey,” he said softly.

A sob broke from her lips and her eyes winced with the pain. “I hurt, King!” she whimpered.

“I know.” He threw the hat onto a chair and lifted her up into his hard arms, crushing her slender body against the length of his, and she felt the warm, awesome strength of him. Her arms went jerkily around his broad shoulders, clinging, her nails biting into the fine material of his dark suit coat.