Yesterday's Roses

by Heather Cullman

  “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that shabby remark.” Sighing, Jake rubbed his forehead. The damn thing felt as if it were being constricted by a band of steel. “Please understand that I’ve heard those same words dozens of times before, only to be told in the next breath that my wife’s brain has been damaged beyond all hope and that she will remain little more than a vindictive child for the rest of her days.”

  His lips twisted in a sad caricature of a smile. “I know that’s no excuse for my acting like such a bastard, but I hope you can forgive me anyway.”

  Impulsively Hallie reached over and clasped his hand. “There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Parrish.”

  “Jake. Please, call me Jake. I would like for us to be friends.”

  “I’d like that too … Jake. And as friends, I’ll expect you to call me Hallie.”

  Jake gave her hand a firm squeeze. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Hallie.”

  And then he smiled that heart-stopping smile.

  “Charming the ladies again, eh, Jake?” Seth Tyler strode into the breakfast room, staring at Jake and Hallie’s clasped hands with bemused interest.

  They both started, snatching their hands apart self-consciously.

  Jake threw his friend a look of annoyance. “For your information, Seth, Dr. Gardiner and I have just come to a mutual agreement and were in the process of shaking on it.”

  “Oh, well, don’t let me stop you,” he replied breezily, plopping into the chair next to Hallie. Eyeballing Jake’s untouched plate with greedy appraisal, he said, “Say, Jake, if you’re not going to eat those buckwheat cakes, you might want to slide them in my direction. My cook can’t seem to make anything that isn’t either dismally underdone or burned to a crisp.”

  With a snort of good-natured exasperation, Jake pushed his plate toward his friend. Grinning at Hallie’s surprised expression, he laughed, “Can’t have Seth gnawing on the furniture, can we?”

  “Well, I did have my mouth all set for that delectable-looking Sheraton sideboard in the dining room, but Celine’s cakes actually look to be easier on the teeth.” Presenting Hallie with a toothy grin, he snatched up Jake’s fork and proceeded to eat with unbridled enthusiasm.

  Jake watched his friend lazily for a few minutes before inquiring, “Who died, Seth?”

  Seth choked on his mouthful of ham, his face turning such an alarming shade of purple that Hallie jumped up and pounded his back furiously.

  “A-l-l RIGHT!” Seth managed to gasp, as he attempted to escape Hallie’s violent ministrations. “Enough! I’m all right now—thank you!” Tossing Hallie a look that was equal parts pain and admiration, he poked at his abused spine gingerly. “Quite a jab you’ve got there, sweetheart. Bet I’ll be black and blue for days.” With that, he reached over and took a quick swig from Jake’s coffee cup. Looking at his friend with interest, he asked, “So, who did die?”

  “That’s what I was wondering, seeing as you’re so somberly dressed.”

  Hallie turned to examine Seth Tyler doubtfully. True, his suit was a subdued charcoal gray worsted, but given the fact that the lapels were canary yellow silk, with a knotted tie to match, and his waistcoat was colorfully embroidered with fanciful creatures, his attire could hardly be described as funereal.

  Seth hooted at Jake’s barbed remark. “Punch him for me, will you, sweetheart? Since you pack such a mighty wallop, you’d be doing me an enormous favor.”

  He stared at Jake critically for a moment and then, pointing his fork at his friend, remarked, “You might want to aim for his right eye. It seems I failed to blacken it in my preoccupation with the left one. Take it easy on his mouth, though. I was pretty rough on it last night.”

  Seth winked at Hallie. “Won’t be kissing anyone anytime soon, eh, Jake?”

  “Damn it, Seth—” Jake sputtered.

  “O-o-o! Such language! Maybe you should start with his mouth after all.”

  “You did that to Jake’s face?” Hallie was appalled. “Whatever possessed you to do such an awful thing?”

  “Sport!” the two men howled in unison.

  Glowering at the guffawing pair as if they were a couple of town idiots caught in the act of baiting the mayor’s dog, she exploded, “You consider it sport to try and beat your best friend’s face to a pulp?”

  Seth shrugged. “Well, that’s hardly the point, though that pretty face does occasionally get in the way.”

  Jake snorted with mock indignation. “You were aiming for my belly and you just happen to be clumsy enough to miss.” Rubbing his lip at the painful memory, he explained, “Seth and I occasionally enjoy a round of boxing at our club. And usually,” he glared at Seth’s unmarked countenance, “this idiot looks as bad—or worse—than I.”

  Hallie looked from one man to the other doubtfully. “It hardly seems a fair contest. I mean—” She stopped short, not quite sure if it would be proper to mention Jake’s bad leg.

  “You mean Jake’s leg,” finished Seth. “Oh, don’t let that worry you. Why, if it weren’t for our boxing matches and our morning rowing contests, Jake would still be the same self-pitying cripple who passed his days huddled beneath his blankets.”

  “Seth,” Jake growled, looking none too pleased with the direction the conversation had taken.

  “Weak and shaky as an infant was our Jake. I’ll never forget the first time I dragged him down to the bay and forced him to row that boat—”

  “Damn it, Seth!” gritted Jake threateningly. “I don’t appreciate—”

  Seth deliberately turned his back on his friend and focused all his attention on Hallie. “Yes, he could barely hold the oars, he was shaking so badly with weakness. Why, even that paltry effort was enough to send him vomiting into the bushes.”

  Jake groaned and looked ready to throttle his friend at any moment, but Seth blithely ignored him.

  “I also found out just how creative Jake can be with a colorful phrase.”

  “Seth,” Jake choked out murderously. “If you’re finished with your tasteless commentary, I’d like to sign those papers you were supposed to bring. You did remember to bring them, didn’t you?”

  “Of course. But I haven’t had a chance to tell Doc how you upset the boat with your clumsiness and had to be rescued from drowning.” His eyes brightened as he warmed to the subject. “You should have seen him! The elegant Jake Parrish thrashing in the water like a duck with a hornet up its backside and looking like a—”

  “Enough!” intervened Jake, color darkening his face.

  “Too bad. That’s one of my favorite stories.” Seth paused to take another bite of ham. “Oh, well. Now that Doc is a citizen of our city, I’ll have plenty of opportunities to regale her with tales of your past, er, glories.”

  “I’m sure that thought gladdens Dr. Gardiner’s heart to no end. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to look over those documents.”

  As the men made to rise and retire to the library, Hop Yung came darting into the breakfast room with obvious agitation.

  “Mister King to see Mister Jake. Ver-ry mean-headed. Ver-ry!” he added with mournful emphasis, wringing his hands anxiously.

  Seth threw Jake a concerned look. “Serena’s father? I wonder what he’s doing back in town.”

  “God only knows,” groaned Jake, an uneasy feeling trickling down his spine. Cyrus King could be summed up in one word: trouble. Heaving a sigh of resignation, he added, “The only way to find out is to see what he wants.”

  “Would you like me to go with you?” asked Seth, worry tainting every line of his handsome face.

  Jake shook his head, but smiled at his friend’s show of support. “No. I’ve handled Cyrus before.” He rose and balanced himself on his cane, painfully flexing his stiff leg. “Just don’t be alarmed if you hear some rather loud … conversation. The man is overly fond of shouting.”

 
Seth stared at his friend doubtfully for a moment, and then nodded. “I’m sure you know best.”

  Jake nodded back. “Since we obviously won’t have time to go over those documents this morning, you might want to take them downtown to our solicitor and get his opinion on the legality of the proposed transaction. It’ll save us time this afternoon. That is—” he turned to Hallie, “—if Dr. Gardiner will excuse us?”

  Hallie nodded her consent, though she felt a strange sense of disappointment at Jake’s leaving. “Of course. I’m sure you and Mr. Tyler—”

  “It’s Seth, sweetheart,” Seth interjected. “My father’s name was Mr. Tyler.”

  She laughed at his droll expression. “And I’m Hallie.”

  Jake limped toward the door, smiling at Hallie’s laughter. He liked the way it sounded, husky and filled with unbridled joy. Hand on doorknob, he paused to glance in her direction. He liked the way she looked, too. Grinning impishly up at his friend, her eyes sparkling with mirth, she looked almost pretty. His smile broadened … until he heard Seth’s words.

  “Now that we’re on a first-name basis, I can tell you about the time Jake got tipsy and decided to serenade cranky old Mrs. Wornley—”

  With a beleaguered groan, Jake stepped over the threshold and slammed the door behind him. Clenching his cane in a deathlike grip, he began his slow trek to the parlor. Cyrus King. Here. Trouble. His muscles tensed at the disturbing thought.

  Once in front of the parlor door, he stopped to ask a passing maid to inform the other servants that he and Cyrus King were not to be disturbed. She bobbed her head and set off to do his bidding.

  Privacy ensured, he sucked in a deep, steadying breath and mentally braced himself for the coming conflict.

  Chapter 7

  The early morning sun danced through the leaded-glass windows of the parlor, igniting a spark of cheer that kindled and blazed until the austerely formal room radiated with a warmth it ordinarily lacked.

  The man pacing restlessly within the gilded blue and white confines was feeling many things, but warmth or cheer did not number among them.

  No. His emotions seethed darkly, a roiling combination of bitterness, rage, and a soul-consuming hatred—all directed toward the man who had robbed him of his beloved Serena, crushed her spirit, and ultimately destroyed her.

  Jake Parrish.

  The name sat like a profane curse on the tip of Cyrus King’s tongue, and he felt an overwhelming urge to spit, to rid himself of the vile taste it left in his mouth. It was at that moment, with the foulness of his hate overwhelming his senses, that he vowed to himself that someday, somehow, he would find a way to bring his mighty son-in-law down in the dirt where he belonged.

  “Cyrus King.” Like the flicker of a candle in a cool autumn breeze, the friendly warmth of the parlor seemed to falter and then die, extinguished by the chilly voice that broke the stillness. “And to what do we owe this honor?” inquired Jake, unable to subdue his irony. He moved into the room until he stood in front of the imposing white marble fireplace.

  Cyrus’s head jerked up at the sound of his son-in-law’s voice, and his eyes narrowed with hostility.

  “You can cut the pleasantries, Parrish,” he snarled, his face becoming a twisted mask of malevolence. “You know damn well that I’ve come to take my daughter home where she belongs.”

  Jake leaned casually against the fireplace and issued a harsh bark of laughter. “Really? And where is home these days? Last I heard, you were living in an abandoned tar-paper shack up at the old Devil’s Flat Camp, existing off whatever change you happen to earn by working odd jobs at the wharf. I’m sure Serena will thank you for taking her away from all this.” He gave a negligent wave at his opulent surroundings. “And reducing her to an existence unfit for even the crudest individual.”

  “Fine surroundings and wealth can never compensate for the hell my daughter had endured at your hand.” Shaking with anger, Cyrus raked his fingers through his thinning, silver-shot blond hair. He had once been an attractive man, but years of bitterness and hard living had taken their toll, leaving his face so deeply lined that it seemed set in a perpetual scowl.

  “Jesus!” he expelled vehemently, advancing a step toward Jake. “When I think of all you’ve done to Serena, I could—well—if I wasn’t such a civilized man, I would have killed you long ago.”

  “The only thing I ‘did’ to your daughter was to spoil and indulge her in all of her extravagant whims. Perhaps by doing that, I did ruin her. If I had told her no more often, she might have learned that the world didn’t revolve around her selfish wants, and she might have developed enough integrity to recognize your slanderous lies for what they really were—attempts to estrange her from me.”

  Jake leaned forward, his eyes boring into Cyrus’s. “Tell me, King. How does it feel to know that you’ve ruined your daughter’s life?”

  “I did no such thing, and well you know it! Don’t try to blame me for your own foul deeds. I love Serena, while you—”

  “No, Cyrus,” Jake cut him off with a commanding tone. “If you want to lay blame for your daughter’s condition, lay it at your own door. It was you who poisoned her mind against me, you bred her dissatisfaction toward our marriage, and you who planted the seeds of unhappiness that led her to attempt suicide.” Jake stabbed out the words, punctuating each syllable with biting emphasis.

  Cyrus King’s hands clenched tightly against his sides as he spat back, “Damn you to hell, Parrish! When are you going to admit to yourself that my daughter came to her senses about you and couldn’t stand living with Yankee scum. Your pride couldn’t bear the humiliation of losing your wife, so you ensured that she couldn’t leave by driving her mad.”

  He paused to steal a glance at Jake. The miserable bastard! He was staring at Cyrus much the way one watched a clown act at a carnival: with amusement and a touch of pity. Well, he would wipe that superior look off the man’s face quickly enough.

  “A pack of good it did you! Just look at you now, nothing more than a pathetic cripple. My daughter despises you! Everyone knows she’d rather die than suffer your foul touch. Not that she has to worry about that, eh?”

  Cyrus leaned in, his eyes glinting with malicious speculation as he taunted, “Rumor has it that Serena confided in Lavinia Donahue that you came back from the war less than half a man.”

  Jake let out a snort of derision. “We all know what a creditable source of information Serena is these days. Taking into consideration the baby upstairs in the nursery, it’s safe to assume that either your daughter lied or she’s taken a lover.”

  Jake watched with satisfaction as Cyrus’s now eggplant purple face slowly bled into a deathly white mask with bulging eyes and gaping mouth. His mouth opened and closed frantically as he tried to speak but couldn’t. A vein began to throb in his temple as he finally croaked, “Baby?”

  “Yes. Your darling daughter gave birth about two weeks ago. A girl. Unnamed as yet,” Jake informed him shortly.

  Cyrus closed the gap between them with mind-spinning speed.

  “You rutting bastard!” he shrieked, smashing his fist into Jake’s mouth, tearing open his already damaged lower lip.

  Although at six-four, Jake topped his opponent by several inches, rage propelled Cyrus, giving him an inordinate strength. Fluidly catching his opponent by the lapels of his wool morning coat, Cyrus pushed Jake against the fireplace, stunning him as his head was whipped back and cracked against the hard surface of the mantel with a loud thud.

  “You forced her! You forced my Serena! She never would have let you touch her by her own volition! Never!” He slammed his fist into Jake’s belly with such nauseating force that the cane slid from Jake’s hand and he doubled over, completely incapacitated.

  Seeing his victory close at hand, Cyrus seized the heavy Limoges vase from the mantel. He was about to inflict a devastating blow to the back of
his opponent’s neck when Jake surprised him.

  Rearing up and deftly catching Cyrus’s arm, Jake twisted it relentlessly until the vase went crashing to the floor. He then jerked the man around to face him and hit him in the jaw.

  “Get out, Cyrus! Now! Before I lose control and kill you!” Jake punched him heavily in the kidneys.

  Howling with pain, Cyrus swiftly brought his knee up and rammed his opponent in the groin with a viciousness that sent Jake crumpling to the ground, with Cyrus still clutched in his grasp. Like lovers in a frenzied embrace, the two men tumbled to the floor, Jake landing squarely on top of Cyrus.

  Cyrus struggled frantically beneath Jake’s weight for several moments until he was able to push himself free. With satisfaction, he noted that Jake was still stunned by his punishing blow, his face blanched with agony and sweat beading on his brow. Roughly, King rolled Jake onto his back, fully intent on pummeling him into a state of senselessness. As he raised his fist to continue his assault, he was whomped across the back of his head with a blow that sent him sprawling to the floor.

  Cyrus could only stare with disbelief at the avenging red-headed virago bearing down on him, wielding a ridiculously frilly pink parasol as if it were a flaming sword of righteousness. She raised her weapon again, but then paused to cast an anxious glance in Jake’s direction, who had begun to chuckle softly.

  Thank God she was on his side! Jake thought drolly. That tiny parasol looked positively lethal in her hands. Why, with all that bright hair springing wildly from her chignon and standing to the topmost inch of her considerable height, she was the very picture of a legendary Amazon capable of wiping out whole armies single-handed. Still clutching painfully at his abdomen, Jake pushed himself to a sitting position and grinned up into Hallie’s outraged face.

  “Jake! Oh, Lord! Look what that beast did to your poor lip!” she exclaimed, peering down at him with concern.

  “My lip?” Jake asked, shifting uncomfortably on the hard floor. “That’s not what’s hurting right now.”