by Barri Bryan
Connal called after her, “See you then.” He left the dance soon after feeling dejected and vaguely anxious, emotions that were foreign to him. Connal Cassidy was fortunate enough to have been born the only child of wealthy, doting parents. Early in life he discovered that what their money and prestige couldn't get for him, his own near genius intelligence, remarkable good looks and charismatic personality could. And he had taken every advantage. Now at thirty-seven he seemingly had it all, a starring role in an Emmy-winning soap opera, millions of adoring fans, more money than he would ever spend and women throwing themselves at his feet. Why then had the last few years seemed so empty and bare?
Connal got into his Titanium Silver Ferrari 360 Modena Spider convertible and sped toward home. Just who the hell did Maggie Donovan think she was anyway? Then he remembered, she was no longer dirt poor Maggie Donovan, now she was Margaret O'Neil, well-to-do widower of a recently deceased local icon. “So what,” he asked himself and then answered his own question. “So Margaret O'Neil will soon learn that Connal Cassidy is not a man to be trifled with, that's what.” My God, now he was talking to himself.
By the time he'd parked his sleek Ferrari between his mother's Buick Regal and his father's rattle trap Ford pickup, his hurt had converted to anger. No one, but no one treated Connal Cassidy with such disregard without paying a price.
As he came through the front door his mother called from the living room, “Is that you, Connal?"
Wearily Connal answered, “Yes, Mother, it's me.” After all these years she was still waiting up for him. He came into the living room. “Why aren't you in bed?"
Eva Cassidy was a short pudgy woman with silver gray hair and huge blue eyes. Those eyes gleamed with adoration at the sight of her only son. “Did you have a nice time dear?"
Connal dropped into the easy chair across from his mother. “Not really.” He asked abruptly, “How's Dad feeling?"
"Not well, I'm afraid; he went up to bed almost an hour ago.” Eva yawned. “Was the party dull, dear?"
Connal mumbled, “Sort of,” before asking, “Why doesn't Dad get a new pickup? That thing he's driving doesn't even have air conditioning."
"I've told him that so many times. He doesn't listen to me. Why don't you talk to him dear?"
Connal was sure that C. J. wouldn't listen to his son either but he made a mental note to speak to his dad tomorrow. “I'll do that.” Standing, he yawned. “I'm going to bed and you should do the same."
As he turned Eva called after him, “I almost forgot; you're ex wife called earlier this evening, she wants you to call her back as soon as possible."
Connal stopped. “Jan called?"
Eva shook her head in swift negation, “Not Jan dear, the other one, I can't recall her name."
Connal turned to face his mother. “Her name is Tanya. Did she say what she wanted?” How the hell Tanya had found out where he was?
Very much in her dignity, Eva replied, “I didn't ask her. I don't pry."
Connal thought, not much. He said, “Thank you, Mother."
Eva pointed, “I wrote her number down on the pad by the telephone in the library."
"I know the number.” Connal glanced at his watch as he turned his feet in the direction of the library. Ten o'clock in Summerville meant it was eight o'clock in L.A. He doubted that Tanya would be in but he'd call her anyway and leave a message telling her not to call him again.
As he walked away Eva called out, “Oh, yes now I remember. Her name is Tanya Tuttle. Isn't she an actress, dear?"
Eva Cassidy did have a way of slanting facts to fit her perspective on things. Without stopping or looking back Connal replied, “Yes, Mother.” Tanya was not just an actress she was one of Hollywood's biggest stars. She was also a scheming, conniving, cold blooded slut who had clawed her way to the top by either sleeping with or stepping on everyone who got in her way.
His mother's answer was lost in the slam of the library door.
With a sigh of resignation Connal picked up the telephone, punched numbers and waited. On the third ring Tanya answered. He honey sweet voice floated across the line. “Hello, Connal darling."
There was time when those sugary words would have sent him into a fever pitch of passion. Now all he felt was disgust accompanied by a touch of caution. “Mother said you called. What do you want?"
A soft chuckle sounded in his ear. “You know what I want."
Revulsion coated Connal's tongue. “Find another stud, Tanya. We're divorced, remember?"
"So, I still need to have your slick cock deep in my juicy cunt. I still need to feel you pumping and going wild as you come and come deep inside me."
This was the woman who had once been able to drive Connal mad with desire. Now all he felt was loathing. “Call one of the many men you slept with while we were married. I'm sure any one of them would be glad to service you."
The husky voice lifted. “I do believe that you're jealous."
"Believe anything you want but don't call me again."
Tanya didn't intend to be brushed aside so easily. “You know that nobody else can fuck you the way I can. No body can give you head the way I do with your slick cock in my mouth and me sucking you off."
Connal was sickened by her obscene words. “Tanya, get a man or buy a vibrator but leave me alone."
"We'll get another girl to join our party, maybe Lucy or Maya. What do you say, lover?"
"I say good bye.” Connal hung up the phone and stood waiting for it to ring again. In a matter of seconds it did. Connal put the receiver to his ear and barked harshly. “Don't you have any pride at all?"
The girlish voice on the other end asked meekly, “Is this the Cassidy residence?"
Over a groan Connal said in a much more civil tone, “Yes it is. Who is this?"
"It's Felicia O'Neil, is this Connal?"
He heard the catch in her voice and felt that old desire to seduce and conquer. “Felicia, darlin', yes this is Connal.” With very little effort he could lure this pretty little thing right into his bed. “What can I do for you?"
"Nothing,” Felicia giggled before adding. “I called to apologize for Margaret."
Connal asked, “Your stepmother?"
"She's not usually so uptight and straight laced. I don't know what got into her tonight. I hope she didn't offend you."
Connal assured her, “I wasn't offended.” He was angry as hell and more than a little hurt but that wasn't what Felicia had asked. “Tell your stepmother all is forgiven."
Felicia protested, “Margaret has no idea that I'm calling you and please don't tell her.” Abruptly she changed the subject. “I saw your car in the parking lot. Wow, it's some automobile. I've never ridden in a Ferrari before."
If that wasn't a blatant invitation Connal had never heard one. He was surprised by her boldness. He was even more surprised to find that he wasn't interested in another seduction or another affair, not even with someone as young and vibrant as Felicia O'Neal. “Someday I'll let you drive it; that is if your stepmother doesn't object."
Quite unintentionally he'd hit a nerve. Felicia was quick to inform him, “I don't have to ask Margaret about what I do.” In a much more subdued tone, she added, “I'd be delighted to go for a ride with you. Would tomorrow afternoon be okay? I know a lovely spot out by Miller's Pond. Have you ever been there?"
In a matter of minutes Connal realized that Felicia was not a shy retiring girl but a determined aggressive woman. How did he tactfully extricate himself from a potentially explosive situation? He knew one way. “Perhaps your stepmother would come along with us."
Felicia pouted, “Three people can't ride in your car, not comfortably anyway."
For the first time in many years Connal decided not to resort to lies or subterfuge. “Felicia, I'm too old to be dating a nineteen-year-old."
Felicia countered, “I'm very mature for my age and I like older men."
"I'm flattered that you'd want to go out with me but I have to refuse.” He sucked in h
is breath and waited.
Felicia cooed, “You'll change your mind. Call me when you do, bye now.” She hung up the phone.
As Connal turned to walk away the infernal instrument rang again. For the third time he picked up the receiver, pressed it to his ear and barked, “Yeah what."
A deep contralto asked, “Connal?"
Connal breathed a sigh of relief. “Jan?"
Laughter floated into his ear. “What are you doing in Summerville?"
"How did you know I was here?” Connal had married Janet Dixon when they were both juniors in college. Had they been a little older and a little wiser they'd have slept together a few times and parted friends. Since neither of them possessed age or wisdom, they'd married. A year later they divorced. It was an amicable parting and they'd remained good friends through the ensuing years.
"I didn't know, I guessed.” The residue of laughter clung to Jan's voice. “Tanya called me earlier this evening. She wanted to know if you were here."
Connal didn't bother to cover his annoyance, “That bitch.” His relationship with his first wife had always been a source of annoyance to his second one. “I'm sorry Jan."
"No problem but I wanted to warn you, she's looking for you."
"She found me,” Connal answered. “She just called.” He asked as an afterthought, “How's Ben?"
"Ben's great in every way.’ Jan giggled like a teenager. “He says tell you hello. Gotta go now, stay in touch.” Jan hung up.
Connal laid the receiver in its cradle and made his way into the hall and up the stairs. He couldn't shake a feeling of depression. As he reached the second floor landing and turned left he gave himself a mental shake. He had accomplished more in his thirty-seven years than most men could hope to achieve in a lifetime. A nagging little voice in the back of his head questioned his self assessment by reminding him that he had only those things that fame can assure and money can buy but he possessed none of the intangibles that gave life purpose and meaning.
Pushing the door of his room open with his foot he went inside, found a near empty fifth of Jim Beam, drained its contents and felt it burn its way down his throat and into his belly. Without bothering to undress he fell asleep with the bottle in his hand.
He awoke the next morning with a headache and a bad taste in his mouth. Dragging himself from bed, he showered, dressed and went downstairs.
He found his mother in the dining room drinking coffee and eating a pecan Danish. She smiled when he came into the room. “Connal darling, sit down. I'll get you some breakfast?"
"Just coffee,” Connal slid into a chair across from his mother.
Eva waddled to the kitchen and returned carrying an oversized mug of coffee. As she pushed it across the table to her son, she asked, “Did you sleep well, dear?"
Connal hadn't slept worth a damn. This morning his head ached and his mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. Disregarding all that, he said the words he knew that his mother wanted to hear. “Yes, Mother, thank you."
A voice boomed from the doorway. “Well I damn sure didn't.” C.J. Cassidy was a short little man with a bald head and a pot belly. His way of strutting with his toes turned out had earned him the nick name Rooster. Swaggering across the room he sat at the head of the table. “Eva, get me some coffee."
Eva jumped to obey. “Yes, C. J."
As she hurried away C.J. eyed his handsome, somewhat hung over son. “How long are you going to be around?"
The old man did have the ability to rub Connal the wrong way. “I'm not sure."
"Maybe you can drive out to the ranch with me before you go back to Hollywood."
Connal said flatly, “I don't think so."
When Connal had gone away to college C.J. had wanted his son to pursue a degree in agriculture. He was assuming that his Connal would come home and take charge of the huge Cassidy cattle enterprise. Connal's decision to pursue a career in law instead had caused a riff between father and son. Connal's subsequent decision to move to Los Angeles had only exacerbated an already volatile situation. His pursuit of an acting career had been the last straw.
C.J. swore before saying, “If there's anything I hate it's a pantywaist."
Eva put a cup of coffee before C. J. “Don't nag the boy, Daddy. Just be glad he's here now."
"I ain't nagging damn it, I'm statin'facts."
Eva took a quick sip of coffee. “Don't shout, Daddy."
Connal tasted his coffee. It was cold. He put his hand to his aching forehead. “There's no place like home."
Chapter Three
Margaret stepped back to view the sideboard in the dining room. What she was offering her Friday night dinner guest was not exactly a gourmet meal; barbeque, beans, and potato salad from the deli and an apple pie from the local pastry shop. Sodas in the can, plastic dinnerware and a stack of paper plates completed the display. If Connal wanted epicurean cuisine he should have stayed in Holly wood. She glanced at her watch. The dial flashed seven-ten. He was late and after she'd expressly stated that he should be on time.
Five minutes later the door bell rang. Margaret opened it to see Connal standing on the other side wearing a pair of skin tight jeans and a white knit shirt that was opened at the neck to reveal a mass of curly chest hair. He was carrying a bottle of Madeira, looking sexier than any man had a right and smiling that killer smile. “I know I'm late but only fashionably so."
So his showing up late was intentional. For reasons that Margaret couldn't comprehend he seemed set on annoying the hell out of her. Well, he was succeeding but she was damned if she'd let him know that. Swinging the door open, she smiled sweetly and invited, “Come in."
As Connal stepped across the threshold he offered her the bottle of wine. “I brought a little something to go with dinner."
Margaret took it, turned and sashayed toward the dining room. “You can take it back with you."
Connal followed along behind her. “I thought you liked Madera."
Margaret blushed as her memory skipped back almost eighteen years to a Sunday afternoon in late July when she and Connal had sat on the creek bank, drunk a bottle of C. J.'s most expensive Madera and then made love al fresco on a blanket they'd spread over the soft grass. “My tastes have changed.” She set the bottle on the table and waved her hand. “Dinner is served, help yourself."
Completely unabashed Connal picked up a paper plate and began to fill it with food. “Really, I would never have noticed. This doesn't look much different from the meals we used to have at your Uncle Jake's.” Balancing his plate in one hand and a soda in the other he sat down at the table. “Don't you remember?"
Margaret remembered, how vividly she remembered. Despite her resolve to remain cool and aloof her heart beat a little faster as a tint of color touched her cheeks. Her mind once again hopped back to that magical summer she and Connal had spent together. Her uncle Jake had been the foreman of C. J. Cassidy's Circle C Ranch. He'd more or less inherited Margaret the winter before when her parents had been killed in a car accident. Even though he was a crusty old unattached male, patently ill-equipped to cope with a seventeen-year-old daredevil woman-child, he'd taken Margaret in and done his bachelor-best to be a surrogate parent.
Things had moved along on a fairly even keel until C. J. showed up the following summer with nineteen-year-old Connal in tow, demanding that his ranch foreman teach his reluctant son ‘The nuts and bolts of ranching."
Margaret had taken one look at Connal Cassidy and lost her heart and her head. With a jerk she yanked her mind back to the present. That was then, this was now. She filled a plate and sat across from Connal. In a cool impersonal voice she asked, “Are you enjoying your visit?"
"So far so good,” Connal said as he pushed food into his mouth.
He had to be the sexiest man she'd ever met. Even straddling a straight back chair and shoveling food onto his mouth he exuded a raw masculinity that was as potent as it was powerful. Margaret murmured, “You must find it quite a change fr
om LA.” If only he had some measure of emotional maturity to go with all that charm. He didn't and she shouldn't fault him for being what he was, a thirty-seven-year-old adolescent. “The weather here can be terrible in late March and early April."
Connal drew a long breath, laid his fork across his plate, put his elbows on the table, dropped his chin into his hands and stared across at her, “Maggie darlin’ I do believe you've turned into a snob."
Indignation straightened Margaret's backbone. “I beg your pardon.” He had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen.
Connal's gaze locked into hers, “And a boring snob at that."
On a note of disdain, Margaret replied, “Forgive me if I'm not as exciting as some of your Hollywood floozies.” Good lord where had that come from?
Connal laid his fork across his plate. “I'll forgive you if you'll forgive me."
Margaret was disturbed to discover that this man's presence still had the ability to excite and upset her. She asked oh, so cautiously, “Forgive you for what?"
"For walking out on you eighteen years ago without so much as a goodbye."
Margaret found herself at a loss for words. “Connal, really.... “A request for forgiveness was the last thing she'd expected.
Connal held up one hand. “But I wrote you a letter later, which by the way, you never answered."
What a charming bastard he was. Margaret laid her fork beside her plate and sighed. What had then been reason for heartbreak brought a smile now. “What could I say to a kiss-off?"
Connal seemed genuinely repentant. “I was a jerk.” He swallowed before adding, “I'm sorry, Maggie love."
Connal apologizing? That had to be a first. “Apology accepted.” Margaret picked up her fork. “Eat your dinner.” She decided that her best and safest course of action was to enjoy Connal's stimulating company for the evening and then get him out of her house and out of her life.
Connal pushed his plate from him and reached for two plastic cups. “Shall we drink to forgiveness?” Opening the wine bottle he poured a generous amount into each cup and slid one across the table to Margaret.
Margaret lifted her cup, “To forgiveness."
