by Lisa Jackson
Cassidy gasped. “No, I’m—”
“Save it for someone who’ll believe it.” Sniffing loudly she blinked back her tears and thrust her chin forward defiantly. “Doesn’t matter,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter how you feel or what Dena and Dad think, because I’m going to the barbecue with Brig.”
“They’ll kill you.”
“I don’t think so.” A darkness slid across her eyes and Cassidy felt a premonition of doom. Angie swallowed hard and fresh tears sprang to her eyes. “You see, Cassidy, I really don’t have much of a choice.” She sounded bitter—so bitter. “Brig and I—” She lifted trembling fingers to her temple and rubbed, as if trying to ease a headache out of her skull.
“Brig and you what?” Cassidy asked, her voice sounding far away, her heart beating in desperation as the seconds ticked by, and Angie fought a losing battle with her tears.
Clearing her throat, she managed a weak smile as she stared straight into her sister’s eyes. “Brig and I are going to get married.”
Thirteen
Cassidy’s feet hurt, her head pounded, and ever since Angie’s announcement about marrying Brig yesterday, she’d had stomach cramps.
Brig and Angie married? No! No! No! She wouldn’t believe it. This was just some fantasy Angie had conjured in her mind.
So why then, had she been crying?
“You’re going to have a wonderful time,” Dena said from the front seat of the Lincoln. She turned her head and offered Cassidy an encouraging smile. “There’ll be lots of boys and girls your age—now, come on, quit pouting.”
“I’m not—”
Dena’s perfectly penciled brows slammed together in frustration. “Yes, you have been. Now, listen, Cassidy, you go in and have yourself a fantastic time tonight and you make sure that The Judge and Geraldine know it!”
Rex pulled up to the front of the huge house and dropped the keys into a valet’s waiting hands. With dread in her heart, Cassidy climbed out of her father’s Lincoln and wished she were anywhere else on earth other than the Caldwells’ mansion. Stark white, two stories, the house looked like it belonged on the set of Gone With the Wind, because it was as close a replica to Tara as any home Cassidy had ever seen. Long green shutters graced the windows, and a wide front porch topped by a veranda ran the length of the building. Ivy climbed several of the red brick chimneys and gardens of rhododendron, azaleas and roses bordered the wide expanse of lawn. Music filled the night, old songs and new melodies floating on the fragrant breeze.
“Come on, come on,” Dena said, hurrying her daughter. Angie was supposedly with Felicity, but Cassidy suspected that her half sister was riding Brig’s motorcycle, her arms wrapped around his chest, her cheek pressed against his back as the wind screamed by.
They’re not getting married. It was just another of Angie’s lies! Have a little faith.
Squaring her shoulders, Cassidy followed her parents into the foyer, where a black man with a starched white collar, black suit, gleaming teeth and eyes that didn’t quite smile led them to the back of the house, where a bank of French doors had been thrown open to the backyard.
“Rex!” The Judge greeted his old buddy. Ira Caldwell was a big man whose wide girth, when not hidden by judicial robes, stretched his belt to the final hole. With thin hair and eyes set deep in the folds of his face, he grinned. “I was wondering when you’d show up. And Dena”—he grabbed Cassidy’s mother’s hand and pumped it furiously between his palms—“you look lovely as always.”
“You’re gushing as always,” she teased as she reached into her purse then slid a cigarette into her fingers. The Judge was quick to offer her a light.
He chuckled and snapped his gold lighter shut. “Hey, who’s this? Well, Cassidy-girl, I never would have recognized you in a dress! Look at you. My, you’re as pretty as your sister.”
“Prettier,” Dena said, blowing smoke coyly to the ceiling.
Cassidy wanted to die. She hated the comparisons to Angie that always occurred whenever she was around her folks’ friends. If only she could drop through the inlaid marble floor. Maybe she could plead a stomachache, or maybe she could just take off walking through the connecting fields and call her folks when she was back at the house. What would they do then? Come home and drag her back to the party? She doubted they would dare make a scene. No one, not even Jesus Christ Himself if He’d been invited, would dare cause a spectacle at Judge Caldwell’s social event of the year. Ruining The Judge’s party would be tantamount to social death.
She fidgeted while her father and mother made small talk. Mom was sporting a new shade of red hair, a creamy lace suit and the new ruby ring Dad had given her. She wasn’t afraid to flash it under the lights as she smoked and laughed and flirted outrageously.
“Where’re the girls?” Dena asked and Geraldine lifted her shoulder.
The lines of strain around Geraldine’s face deepened. “Felicity said something about coming later with Derrick.”
“He left the house hours ago,” Rex said, his smile fading a little. “Angie, too.”
“Well, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her.” Geraldine looked genuinely perplexed, but Cassidy sensed a little gleam of triumph as Felicity’s mother shook her head. The two girls, though best friends, had always been rivals. It would please Geraldine if Angie were in some kind of trouble.
“Let me get you a drink!” The Judge clapped Rex on the back. “Cassidy, there’s a bunch of kids out by the pool—all the girls eyein’ the boys.” He gave her an exaggerated wink.
Cassidy had begged her mother to let her stay home, but Dena had been adamant, insisting that Cassidy start socializing with kids her age; she was to start tonight at this damned party. Dena had even gone so far as to buy Cassidy a ridiculous white dress that fell over her shoulders.
Now, in the stupid dress, Cassidy felt like she was trying to imitate one of Angie’s silly Barbie dolls. It was ridiculous. She found a way to extricate herself from her parents and headed outside where the crisp country air was clogged with smoke from the barbecue. Ribs and chicken, steaks and lobster all sizzled over the coals attended by hired chefs. Drinks were available at the portable bar set near the steps.
Clusters of women sat at umbrella tables smoking and gossiping while their husbands stood near a portable bar stocked with expensive liquor. A tent, adorned with miniature lights, shaded tables laden with salads, desserts and hors d’oeuvres.
From the corner of her eye she spied Bobby and Jed, partially hidden in the shadows near the back of a tent as they glanced over their shoulders, fished in their pockets and nipped from hidden flasks. Ties already askew, eyes narrowed, they were looking for a fight. “Tonight,” Jed said, his voice barely audible. “Just you wait. McKenzie’ll get his.”
Cassidy’s heart slammed.
“The bastard has it coming to him,” Bobby agreed before he shut up, as if suddenly aware that they could be overheard. She took a step closer.
“Cassidy?” The male voice was nearly familiar, and she turned, half expecting Brig to appear. Instead she stared at Chase McKenzie, dressed in a tuxedo, a smile firmly in place as he approached. “You’re Cassidy Buchanan, aren’t you? I’m—”
“Brig’s brother.”
His lips tightened a fraction. “Chase.”
“I—I know,” she said, a little tongue-tied when she realized he didn’t like being recognized because of his brother, just as she resented always being compared to her sister.
“Having a good time?” he asked, and his concentration was solely on her, his eyes the same startling blue as Brig’s, his build and height the same. But he was more refined than his rough-edged brother or so everyone, including her mother, said.
“Isn’t everybody?”
One side of his mouth lifted. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Well, this is the event of the season.” She wasn’t interested in small talk. She was waiting. For Brig.
“Still didn’t
give me a yes or no.” He leaned forward and whispered, “You may as well know that I’m going to be the best damned lawyer this state has ever seen in a few years and I won’t let anyone duck a question. Not even a pretty girl.”
“But I’m not on the witness stand, am I?”
“And I’m not that lawyer yet.” His eyes twinkled. “How about a dance?”
She was suddenly tongue-tied. Dance? With Chase McKenzie? In front of God and everybody? She was already sweating and her mind was elsewhere. “I don’t know how…I mean I don’t think I can—”
“Come on,” he insisted. “It’ll be fun.”
“But aren’t you here with someone—?” she asked, then bit her tongue for insinuating that he hadn’t received a gold-embossed invitation himself. A spark of anger flickered in his eyes and he looked suddenly like Brig. Her throat turned to dust. She couldn’t imagine Brig’s brother’s arms around her. Chase was so much older, probably somewhere around twenty-five.
Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he stared at her as if she were an intricate puzzle that he was determined to figure out. “My date doesn’t dance.”
“Why not?”
“I came with the Reverend Spears’s daughter and he thinks dancing is some kind of weird sexual ritual or something. Anyway, according to him, a waltz is at least a class C sin. As for disco dancers—I swear he’d like to lock ’em up and throw away the key.” He slanted her an evil grin that made her laugh.
“Then why’s he here?” Cassidy asked, looking over the sea of faces to find the preacher, his clerical collar in place, seated at one of the tables and eating from a plate of barbecued ribs and corn on the cob. Drops of sweat rolled down his sideburns as he feasted hungrily, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. His wife Earlene sat next to him and eyed the crowd. Her lips were pursed in disgust, her face devoid of makeup, her hair scraped back into a severe knot at the base of her skull. Her brown suit and blouse with its stiff white collar seemed to cluck its tongue at all the ostentatious and sparkling gowns of the other women.
Chase followed her gaze. “You know, I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I think the good reverend comes just so he can watch everyone in his congregation. He keeps tabs on them—how much they drink, who dances with anyone other than his spouse, who pats whose fanny and who sneaks away from the crowd for a quick feel. I bet he goes home and writes down his notes. Then he’ll get up tomorrow morning, have his divine toast, pure coffee and blessed oatmeal, stroll over to the church, pick a rosebud for his lapel, climb up to the pulpit and belt out a sermon about hellfire and damnation and the wages of sin.”
“That doesn’t make a lot of sense,” she said but smiled. “Why bother?”
“It’s guaranteed to fill the church’s coffers. All those guilty consciences. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll manage to line his pockets in the meantime.”
“You sound like Brig.”
“Do I?” One side of his mouth lifted. “I’ll have to fix that. So, tell me, Cassidy Buchanan, why’re you here?”
To find Brig! To talk to him. “My mother made me come.”
“That doesn’t make much more sense than ol’ Bartholomew Spears’s reasons. On the other hand, I came because this is the place to be in Prosperity. Being here is the right social move.”
“And that’s important?” She couldn’t hide the hint of mockery in her voice.
“Yeah,” he said, seeming suddenly uncomfortable. “It is when you want something so badly you can taste it. But you don’t have that problem, do you? You don’t want for anything.”
Only your brother, she thought, biting her lip. Her deodorant was already failing and the night was turning muggy. Thick, threatening clouds rolled across the pale face of the moon.
“Maybe to you this is just another boring party, but to me, it’s a golden opportunity. One I intend to enjoy, so come on, Cassidy. Let’s have some fun. Dance with me.” His smile was gentle and she let herself be led down the brick steps to a flat area by the swimming pool where a polished wooden dance floor had been assembled. Japanese lanterns, suspended from wires strung through the surrounding trees, floated on the breeze and reflected red, yellow and green on the surface of the pool. Torches were lit to keep the insects at bay, and a gleaming grand piano was positioned on a knoll above the dance floor. Music floated down the hillside, and the pianist, dressed in long tails and a bow tie, was playing requests. A few couples danced while others gathered in clusters, nursing drinks, talking and laughing.
“I don’t know about this,” Cassidy whispered as they joined the few other brave souls moving easily across the floor.
“I do.” Gathering her in his arms, he pulled her close and she didn’t resist. He was so like Brig, yet different. Older. Rock-steady. He smelled of aftershave and soap, and his hair was combed neatly in place. His breath was warm and tickled her hair as they began to dance. But he was Brig’s brother. Not the boy she loved.
Somewhere over the mountains, thunder rolled.
She felt clumsy, but Chase wouldn’t let her embarrassment force her off the floor. “You’re doing fine,” he insisted when she muttered her sixth apology for nearly tripping over her own two feet.
“Yeah, sure. So where’s Arthur Murray when you need him?”
He chuckled, a deep rumble in the back of his throat, and she relaxed a little. He wasn’t Brig, but he was safe. By the way he held her, carefully, as if he was aware that she was about to bolt off the floor at any minute, she knew that she could trust him.
But still she searched for Brig, and Jed’s words, spoken with such hatred, ran through her mind. McKenzie’ll get his. Oh, God, she had to warn him. Considering confiding in Chase, she bit her lip and caught Mary Beth Spears’s gaze. Instantly she went rigid all over again, for the preacher’s daughter was glaring at her with undisguised malice.
Great, one more enemy, she thought sarcastically. There seemed to be a lot of hatred going around tonight.
“Looks like part of the family has arrived,” Chase whispered, and Cassidy’s heart leaped at the thought of seeing Brig. She looked anxiously over Chase’s shoulder to see Felicity, her arm looped possessively through Derrick’s, sweep through the French doors. Her dress was green silk, and diamonds glimmered at her throat.
“Felicity!” Geraldine’s voice was breathy. “And Derrick.”
“’Bout time you two showed up,” The Judge boomed.
Felicity didn’t let go of Derrick’s arm as she hugged her mother and father. Her cheeks were high with color, her eyes bright, and she had the same look about her that Cassidy’s father did every time he negotiated a good deal on a new, expensive horse. Derrick, on the other hand, was slightly drunk, though he was fighting to appear sober. His gaze raked over the crowd before it landed unerringly on Cassidy. Shaking loose of Felicity’s arm, he weaved over to the dance floor.
“Where is she?” he asked, ignoring Chase.
“Who?”
“Angie—where is she?”
“Not here yet.”
“I think she’s with my brother,” Chase said, his arms clamped firmly around Cassidy.
Derrick’s eyes darkened. “That bastard! I’ll wring his neck and—”
Chase reacted quickly, grabbing Derrick by the lapels. “Leave Brig alone,” he warned, his voice low as he uncurled his fists and took hold of Cassidy again. “He has every right to come here. He was invited. By your sister. So you can quit worrying about him and bothering us. I think your date is waiting. If I were you, I wouldn’t embarrass her tonight.”
Derrick’s gaze skated around the yard. Only a few couples dancing nearby had noticed the altercation.
“You’re white trash, McKenzie—well, white trash with a little Indian blood thrown in.”
Chase’s smile was deadly. “Don’t push it, Buchanan,” he cautioned. Chase, for all the rumors about him being the easygoing brother, could only be pushed so far.
“I just want to know where my sister is.”
“Leave it
alone, Buchanan. Angie’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”
“The fuck she can!”
Felicity, closing in, gasped. Her face turned as red as her hair, but Derrick didn’t notice her. He glared at Chase and bit out, “She’s out of her mind, that’s what she is. When he shows up, I swear, I’ll kick his ass out of here.”
“Maybe he’ll do the kicking,” Chase observed.
“You’re next, man.” Again his gaze raked up and down Chase, almost daring him to throw the first punch. Chase’s muscles bunched, his teeth clenched and an angry tic developed under his eye but he held on to his temper as Felicity practically dragged Derrick off the dance floor. He flung off her arm.
“He’s got a problem,” Chase observed as Derrick demanded another drink.
“Not just one,” Cassidy replied.
Chase’s gaze followed Derrick’s every move. “He’s looking for a fight.”
“Always,” Cassidy admitted, embarrassed.
“Why does he hate Brig?”
“I have no idea. He’s just—angry all the time.” She really couldn’t explain her brother or how he’d changed in the past few years.
“Nice guy,” Chase mocked.
“He used to be,” Cassidy said, but that was a long time ago, when we were little kids.
Threatening clouds blocked the moon and stars. A breath of wind stirred the warm air, and the atmosphere seemed to change. The roar of a motorcycle thrummed through the night, drowning out the music before dying suddenly.
Cassidy tensed.
Brig had arrived.
Within minutes Cassidy saw him walking through the French doors with Angie in tow. Angie’s hair was windblown, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright. Her dress, designed in pink gauze, was strapless and hugged her body before flaring into a skirt that swirled around her knees. Diamonds and pearls circled her throat and wrist. She was, as always, breathtaking.
Every eye on the patio turned in her direction, noting Rex Buchanan’s adored daughter and the rebel boy in his black jeans, suit jacket, and open-throated white shirt.
