by Lisa Jackson
Cassidy’s steps faltered.
Chase’s smile faded. “Wouldn’t you know,” he muttered under his breath. “Couldn’t even buy himself a suit. Didn’t bother with a tie.”
Brig’s gaze scanned the crowd and landed on Cassidy. For a second she could barely breathe—it was as if a vise had surrounded her lungs and was tightening with every tick of the clock. For a long, heart-thudding instant their gazes collided and the world seemed to stop. The party faded away. A vein throbbed at Brig’s temple. Cassidy’s pulse skyrocketed and she was vaguely aware that she was supposed to be dancing.
Angie whispered something into Brig’s ear, and a slow, treacherous smile slid across his jaw. Lacing his fingers through hers, he tugged her onto the dance floor. Her laughter trailed after them, and Cassidy felt suddenly hot and young and stupid—a naïve little girl. Everything came back into sharp, hard focus. “I need to talk to your brother,” she said.
“Why?”
She looked up and found Chase staring down at her, his eyebrows slammed together in concentration, his eyes snapping with fury, and she wondered if he understood her fascination with Brig. “Because I overheard a couple of guys who were planning to beat him up.”
Chase laughed without a trace of humor. “Sounds like a typical Saturday night.”
“I think they meant it.”
“Only two of them?” Chase remarked, his gaze returning to Angie and Brig as he twirled her near the piano. “He can handle them.”
Why didn’t he understand? “But they don’t fight clean.”
“Neither does Brig. Don’t worry about it.” Then he looked at her again, and his fury gave way to dark concern. Lines of worry etched his forehead. “Don’t tell me you have a thing for him?”
A thing? Like what she felt was just a schoolgirl fantasy. “I—I just don’t want to see him get hurt.”
“He can take care of himself.”
“Bobby Alonzo and Jed Baker are—”
“A lot of hot wind, that’s all.” He sighed against her hair, and his arms surrounded her body as if to protect her from the world. “Don’t worry about them.” Then, seeming to read her mind, he added, “And don’t get hung up on Brig. It’s not healthy.”
She lifted her head and started to protest, but the censure in his gaze kept her from saying a word.
He hesitated, as if weighing his words, then swore under his breath. “You’re too young for him, Cassidy. And you’re too young for me. The difference is, he’ll break your heart and I won’t. I respect you, your age and who you are. I have honor; Brig doesn’t know the meaning of the word—or maybe he has his own skewed interpretation of what honor really is because of the size of the chip he hauls around on his shoulder.” Chase stared down at her, brushed a chaste kiss across her temple, and as the song ended he said, “I think I’d better pay attention to my date.” With that he left her and she felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. She knew instinctively that Chase Buchanan was solid as a rock whereas Brig was like quicksand—ever moving, never dependable, always a danger—but she couldn’t just turn off her emotions like water in a spigot, could she?
But she might have to, if Brig and Angie got married.
Fourteen
Chase made his way to the bar and tried to tamp down the jealousy that burned through his blood. Not only was Angie Buchanan interested in his wayward brother, but, it seemed, the younger girl was as well. “I’ll take a bourbon and water, a double, and a Shirley Temple.” He waited for the drinks and watched Brig and Angie. She seemed to be pleading with him to dance again, but he walked back to the patio, leaned against the railing, shook a cigarette from the pack in his jacket pocket and lit up. He was angry about something already and that spelled trouble.
Chase couldn’t believe the way Angie cuddled up to Brig, wrapping an arm around his waist, brushing her breasts against his jacket as Brig smoked, and then it hit him. Like the proverbial ton of bricks. Angie and Brig were lovers. A mixture of envy, awe and raw jealousy spurted through his blood. Then he felt fear—bloodcurdling, mind-numbing fear. If Brig was sleeping with Angie Buchanan, his days were numbered. Her old man would kill him.
But Chase understood his brother.
Hell, the thought of making love to Angie was seductive, and he knew it was impossible not to want her. Worth the risk.
Chase tore his eyes away and ignored the heat in his loins. Just looking at Angie, at the cleavage from breasts packed tightly into a strapless bra and bulging slightly over the dipped neckline of that pink dress, made him hard. God, what he would give for a taste of Angie Buchanan. He was as bad as his randy brother. The difference was that Chase was responsible and would have given up part of his life to make love to her.
“Your drinks, sir?” The bartender’s voice brought him out of his fantasies, and he swallowed the bourbon and water in one gulp, then ordered another, hoping to quench the thirst that suddenly parched his throat.
He carried the drinks to the table where Mary Beth was seated with her parents.
“Why, thank you.” Mary Beth’s brown eyes filled with gratitude that he’d deigned to return, though he sensed a deeper emotion that she quickly hid. He felt like a heel for ditching her earlier.
“Dancing,” Mary Beth’s mother said, her lips drawn so tight it was as if they were pulled by a purse string. “The devil’s doing.”
Chase smiled. “I wouldn’t say that too loudly if I were you, Mrs. Spears. Seems a lot of people here like it. They might not take kindly to being told they’re doing some kind of devil worship.”
“I hate to admit it, but you’re right,” the reverend admitted to Chase. He patted his wife on the crook of her arm, as it she were a dog that needed reassurance. “This is not the time nor the place. We’ve accepted Judge Caldwell’s hospitality and we won’t condemn certain aspects of it.”
Earlene Spears, effectively rebuked, looked down at her clasped hands. She was whispering to herself, as if praying, and Chase was reminded of physical education class when he’d said the coach was a jerk and had been overheard. He’d been forced to drop and do fifty push-ups in front of the class. If he failed with any one of the push-ups, he’d be forced to do fifty more. He ended up doing nearly three hundred and feeling as if he were dying—his penance for mouthing off. He wondered if Earlene’s prayer, muttered under her breath so quickly after her husband’s reprimand, was her atonement for speaking out of line. Suddenly, he felt sorry for the woman. “Would you like a drink?” he asked, interrupting the movement of her lips. She glanced up quickly, swallowed hard, then shot a look at her husband—as if she were asking to be granted permission.
Bartholomew’s smile drizzled away. Chase didn’t give a damn. “How about a glass of wine—or a ginger ale?”
“That…that would be nice. The soda,” she said nervously.
“You got it.” Flashing her a wide grin, he grabbed Mary Beth’s arm and said, “Come on. You can help me.”
Mary Beth’s face turned the color of roses, and the blush helped give depth to her features. She was a plain-looking girl with a tiny nose and small eyes that continually blinked, probably from the contacts that had replaced her thick glasses. Her cheekbones were high, and Chase suspected that with a touch of makeup she’d be pretty. She was twenty-two now and had just graduated from some Bible college, but she still acted as if she was a shy seventeen-year-old coed.
He’d been surprised to run into her at the drugstore in town where he’d picked up a couple of bottles of aspirin and a tube of Ben-Gay for his mother. He’d said hello as a matter of courtesy, and she struck up a conversation, then stunning him, had asked him in her tongue-tied, desperate-virgin manner to the barbecue. He’d agreed for solely selfish reasons—to meet the powers that be in Prosperity, Portland and Oregon City—and now he felt like a jerk. Already, he’d left her twice, once to talk to Jake Berticelli, a downtown corporate lawyer with a major firm, and then to dance with Cassidy.
Now, he told himself, it
was only right that he plant himself firmly at her side, smile and give her the attention which she deserved…at least for a while. His eyes strayed to Angie again. God, she was beautiful—such a princess.
At the bar he ordered the ginger ale as well as another bourbon and water for himself, then tried not to notice Cassidy standing alone, looking out of place when she should have been having the time of her life. She was interesting in a different way. Pretty enough, but pale in comparison with her half sister, Cassidy seemed quick, a lot smarter than Angie, even though she was still a skinny kid wobbling in her first pair of high heels. She’d probably age well, become more interesting and beautiful with the passing of time. Trouble was right now she seemed hung up on Brig. Just like Angie. Chase’s jaw tightened so hard it hurt.
“…around here, you know, in the Portland area?” Mary Beth asked, blinking up at him, and he realized he’d been ignoring her again. She followed his gaze and stiffened when she recognized Cassidy.
“Pardon me?”
“I asked if you planned to practice law somewhere around here.”
“Depends.” He lifted a shoulder and grabbed the two drinks.
“On?”
“What I’m offered, I guess.”
“I thought you might stick around, you know, because of your mom.”
Something in her tone caught his attention—the same self-righteous inflection that he’d heard from the women of the church who’d tried to help out when his brother Buddy had nearly drowned a long time ago. All at once the time faded and he remembered years back, riding home on his bike, seeing the dead cat draped over the mailbox, glazed eyes staring blindly at the road, flies already gathering at the stench. Bile roiled up the back of his throat, and he wondered, as he had a thousand times over the years, if the well-meaning reverend or a zealot from his congregation had been responsible for the carnage. “Ma can take care of herself,” he said, his voice clipped. No reason to get defensive. Not here. Not now.
“Good.” Mary Beth’s smile appeared genuine but he still felt that little prick at the back of his scalp, the one that warned him things weren’t exactly as they seemed. “My father, he worries about everyone in the community, you know, whether they’re a Christian or not.”
“And Mom’s not?”
“I don’t know.” She sipped her drink. “Is she?”
He considered his crazy mother and his own plans about having her see a psychiatrist. “Mom’s just unconventional,” he said and heard the thread of steel in his voice, felt a trickle of perspiration at the base of his spine. Though he’d grown up ashamed and embarassed of his mother’s eccentricities, he wouldn’t let anyone else put her down. “But she’s the fairest, most decent human being I know.”
Mary Beth’s eyebrows quirked in surprise. “Then why did your father—” She stopped short, blushed again and shook her head. “Never mind.”
“No. What were you going to ask?” he demanded, vaguely aware that the music had changed and the notes of an Elton John song drifted over the crowd.
“It was nothing.”
“Go ahead. Tell me.”
“Really, Chase, it was just a silly thought.”
He felt a tense tic in his jaw. “What about my old man?”
Licking her lips nervously, she looked down at the ground for a second before angling her chin upward and meeting his gaze. Curiosity and something else, something murkier and deadlier, lingered in those innocent brown eyes. She swallowed. “Then why did your father leave?”
A question that had haunted Chase all his life. Why? Why? Why? Guilt settled over his shoulders. Was it something he’d done? Was it because he hadn’t been able to save his younger brother? “I don’t know,” he admitted, feeling like that impotent five-year-old boy he’d been so long ago. “But I think it had a lot to do with Buddy—my younger brother—”
“Yes, I know—”
“When Buddy nearly drowned, Dad snapped. Just left for work one day and didn’t bother coming back.”
“Don’t you ever hear from him? He is your father.”
Chase felt a familiar pain and dealt with it the only way he knew how. Tossing his drink back, he refused to answer, to think of all the reasons Frank McKenzie had bailed out on his family. Chase had wondered about it often, just as he’d wondered about what had become of Buddy, but he’d never asked; the subjects were taboo in the house and anytime anyone dared mention either Frank or Buddy to Sunny, she would clam up for days, get lost in herself somewhere dark and far away. “Come on, your mother’s drink is getting warm.” With a smile he’d practiced for years, Chase ushered Mary Beth over to the tent where the Spearses were still seated and handed Mrs. Spears the ginger ale.
“Thank you,” she said, grateful for a little kindness cast in her direction.
“No problem,” he replied and told himself not to push it, to hang on to his poise, to ignore the rise of temper that his brother always gave in to. This was the worst place in the world to get into it, but the spark of interest in Mary Beth’s eyes when she talked about his family and the memory of the dead cat and the way the ladies of Reverend Spears’s church had tried to force Mom to give up her little family, whispering that she wasn’t a fit mother, welled up in his mind. He wondered, as he had off and on for years, if the Spearses had been behind the bullets shot at the palm-reading sign or the gutted cat…All his self-imposed control went to hell as he favored Mrs. Spears with a smile. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to dance with Mary Beth.”
“Out of the question!” the reverend said, wiping the barbecue sauce from his lips with the corner of his napkin.
“She’s over eighteen, old enough to make up her own mind, don’t you think?” Again he flashed his wear-ever grin.
“She’ll not be partaking in any of that hedonistic ritual,” he replied, lips beginning to whiten. “It’s the work of Satan, boy.”
“Mary Beth, sit down,” Earlene commanded softly.
Mary Beth tried to wiggle her fingers free from Chase’s, but he held on tight, clenching her hand in a death grip. “What do you say, Mary Beth—we shouldn’t be discussing you behind your back. Will you dance with me?”
She squirmed. “Please, Chase, don’t—”
“You don’t want to dance with me?”
“It’s not that, but—”
“That’s enough!” the preacher hissed. His hands splayed on the table, he shoved himself upright and rose to his full six-feet-three-inches. With hawkish features, huge hands and a voice that could boom and whisper at the same time, he was an imposing man. He glared down at Chase. Hatred shimmered in the air. “You heard her, boy. She doesn’t want to dance with you.”
“I think she can speak for herself.”
A hush came over the crowd, conversation ended, ice cubes stopped rattling in their glasses. Dancers paused and even the strains of an old Beatles tune faded away as the piano player, too, let his fingers drift from the keys.
Chase sensed every eye on him, and the gazes on his back nearly burned through the fabric of his rented tuxedo. Rex Buchanan, his boss, the richest man in Prosperity, Judge Caldwell, his host, and whom he might appear before should he pass the bar exam, Jake Berticelli and Elliot Barnes, both prominent local attorneys—they all were here. Watching him. The governor and a fledgling senator were supposed to be in attendance. Be careful, his mind warned, don’t blow it! You’ve worked too hard to get here. Don’t piss anyone off just because this lying jackass thinks he’s better than you and your mother.
“Mary Beth, get your things,” Reverend Spears ordered quietly. He glanced at the crowd, obviously noting that he had everyone’s attention. “Earlene, I think we should leave.”
“Not until I get my dance.” Chase’s fingers dug into Mary Beth’s hand.
“No way, son. If you think my daughter’s going to dance with the son of a woman who practices witchcraft and Satanism—” He caught himself then and cleared his throat. His anger was quickly disguised beneath a mask o
f benign contemplation. “Look, boy, I don’t think we should make a scene. This is, after all, a celebration for The Judge and his lovely wife.”
“You insulted my family,” Chase reminded him.
“A mistake, you know, that’s all. I pray for your mother and those lost souls who come to her for guidance instead of seeking out the truth of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Every night I kneel at the altar of our beloved Father and pray that she’ll give up her deal with Satan, that she’ll no longer pay tribute to Lucifer.”
“You don’t know a thing about it.”
“She’s a troubled woman, son.”
“Go to hell!”
Brig had heard enough. He’d seen Chase with Mary Beth and noticed the fire in his brother’s eyes. His brother, damn him, was in way over his head. These people would love to have a reason to blackball Chase McKenzie forever, and if he caused a scene at The Judge’s party, he could kiss his law career in Prosperity, and probably Portland, good-bye. Idiot. Brig vaulted over a chair to stand next to his brother. “Ease up,” he advised.
“This isn’t your fight.”
Brig’s smile widened. “Sure it is; they all are.”
“Hey, now, folks, let’s not get into this.” The Judge intervened, spreading his hands in gentle supplication while his hard little eyes glittered furiously. His wife Geraldine strode quickly to the piano player, issued a terse directive, and soon the notes of “In the Mood” filtered through the sticky night air.
“You’ll pay for this, both of you,” Reverend Spears predicted as he shepherded his little family through the crowd. “Judgment Day isn’t that far off.”
Brig snorted. “See ya there.” He plucked a grape from a nearby table and tossed it into his mouth, then turned his gaze on his brother. “Boy, do you know how to make an impression.”
“Don’t remind me.” Impatiently, Chase plowed his fingers through his hair. “I probably just cut my own throat.” He glanced over to the cluster of attorneys who all worked for Jake Berticelli, but their gazes slid away. Well, screw ’em.
