The Ramseys Boxed Set

by Altonya Washington

  Mel looked down at her thumbs twiddling where her hands rested atop the desk.

  “I’ve never and will never feel that way,” Crane went on to proclaim when Mel offered no response. “For you to even skirt around something like that offends me more than you could know.”

  Slowly, Melina’s rigid demeanor began to melt. She grimaced, just as frustrated with herself as she was with Crane. “What do you expect me to think?” she snapped, standing from her chair. “I’ve been a valuable employee from the day you hired me at the store. Then as your business began to diversify, you gave me more challenges and I met every one-beyond expectations,” she ranted, pushing her hands into the side pockets of the pearl white slacks she wore. “Now at this point when you’re vying for something as astounding as a Senate seat you cast me aside to handle regular business? That is offensive.”

  Crane sighed, rubbing his thumb across one of the gold cufflinks adorning his sleeve. “You’re right,” he noted softly, grinning as her point hit home. “I am sorry, love,” he said, moving over to pull her into a hug that lasted several moments.

  “I still want you to take this trip,” Crane insisted when their hug ended.

  Melina rolled her eyes and turned her back on him. Silence refilled the room for a time and then her voice rose soft and somber. “I never want to go back there,” she admitted.

  “Hey,” Crane soothed, his hands settling to her shoulders as he pulled her back against his chest. “Shh…have you ever thought that perhaps if you just talk to Yohan it might erase all the hurt I’m sure you’re both living with?”

  Mel closed her eyes and hid her face in her palms. “Crane,” she groaned, her voice muffled, “this all has to do with so much more than me and Yohan.”

  Crane pressed a kiss into the fragrant dark cloud of her hair. “You have to start somewhere, love. The two of you have been living in limbo for eight years. Don’t you think you both deserve to be free to get on with your lives?”

  “He won’t allow it!” Mel snapped, wrenching out of Crane’s light grasp. “I’ve tried-he’s made it too hard to leave!”

  Crane folded his arms over his chest. “Now I think you’re over exaggerating,” he said.

  Mel shook her head and returned to stare out of her office windows. Crane was right, of course. Breaking that last tie with Yohan…just the thought of it still chilled her inside.

  “Sweetheart, clearly you’re needed back there,” Crane said, moving close again. “Otherwise your mother-in-law wouldn’t have called.”

  Mel frowned then and turned to pin Crane with a suspicious glare. “As you said, Yohan and I have been living this way for eight years. Why, all of a sudden, are you urging me to go back there because of some family drama?”

  “I need you to do this,” he whispered fiercely, taking both her hands in an unbreakable hold. “Please don’t argue with me over it anymore.”

  Mel’s suspicion was replaced by concern in her exotic slanting gaze. The uncharacteristic look of fear in Crane’s voice and eyes held her captivated. When he turned away, she caught the sleeve of his suit coat and made him look at her. “What is going on?!” she demanded.

  Crane massaged his nose and looked as though he were trying to muster courage. “You really have no idea of how dirty a campaign of this magnitude can become.”

  “I don’t care about that!”

  “But I do!” he raged, taking her hands again when his outburst caused her to flinch. “Mel, in the coming months, things about my past will be revealed-“

  “And this is why you’re sending me to Seattle? To protect me?”

  Crane’s stare wavered. “Partly, but not completely.”

  Mel set her cheek against her palm and closed her eyes as if she were muttering a prayer for calm. “Okay Crane, now you’ve just got me worried. I’ll go to Seattle and handle whatever business you need me to,” she assured him. “But first you’ve got to come clean. You’ve got to tell me everything.”

  Crane’s smile was relief personified. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry, love. I intend to.”

  ***

  Marcus Ramsey founded and headed Ramsey Group Acquisitions. That morning, the three men he’d assigned to the company’s highest positions, sat across a wide table. Their eyes were riveted on the young man who they regarded with nervous, uncertain stares.

  Yohan’s focused, intense midnight gaze was discomforting in its thoroughness. “What the hell is this?” he asked, his baritone voice holding the unmistakable traces of humor at the expression on each man’s face.

  Ronald Grimes, Morris Tucker and Sean Fellowes all exchanged glances. The three VPs began to clear their throats in unison. Ronald was first to regain use of his verbal abilities and leaned across the long conference table separating he and his colleagues from their boss’s youngest son.

  “Yohan we’re all concerned about Marcus’s ability to uh…keep it together.”

  His glare narrowing, Yohan studied each man more intently. “How concerned?” He inquired lightly, smirking at the surprised expressions that illuminated the VPs faces.

  Sean Fellowes cleared his throat. “We have good reason to be very concerned, son.”

  “Has he been in touch?” Yohan asked.

  Sean shook his head. “No.”

  “How was he before he left?”

  Morris and Ronald exchanged quick looks.

  “Dazed-quite um…out of it.”

  “Out of it?” Yohan asked, propping his chin against his fist. “Dazed. Could you guys be jumpin’ the gun a bit? I mean, maybe the man just needed time away.”

  “He wouldn’t go without leaving us a way to contact him,” Ronald certified.

  “Your father’s not quite on top of his game.” Sean added. “Not since your Uncle Houston’s troubles and-“

  “So what the hell do you three expect me to do about it?”

  Morris raised his hands and scooted closer to the table. “If you’d just consider talking with your father-“

  “And asking him what?” Yohan challenged, his heavy sleek brows drawn close. “You three still ain’t told me what you want. I know it’s about a damn bit more than concern for his mental state.”

  The men nodded as though coming to agreement about what would be said next.

  “Yohan there are certain decisions we need someone here for.”

  “A Ramsey,” Sean cut into Ronald’s explanation. “A Ramsey in the company will at least help to maintain the illusion that all is steady.”

  “Good plan,” Yohan commended and got more comfortable in the black leather armchair he occupied. “May I ask why you haven’t gone to the elders?”

  “They have no influence over Marc!” Sean blurted.

  “And you think I do?” Yohan challenged.

  “Fernando and Moses couldn’t be found Yohan,” Morris explained, tugging at the collar of his blue dress shirt. “We doubt they’d give a damn about this situation anyway,” he added.

  “Besides,” Ronald shrugged, “we’d be wasting our time and theirs by having them here.”

  “Marc would want no one other than you to take over,” Sean confessed, “You know how he feels about you.”

  Yohan felt sick inside and rubbed his hand across his abdomen where the dark brown T-shirt fell across. “I guess you three forgot I have my own business now?” he inquired, trying to ignore the persistent rumbling in his stomach.

  Ramsey’s Architectural Division was created by Yohan after he obtained his degree in Architecture. The division boasted the largest number of award winning architects-who were responsible for the stunning designs Ramsey Group’s real estate clients loved them for. Yohan’s company in addition to his other, numerous holdings made the thirty year old a powerful mogul independent of his family’s successes.

  Yohan stood, pulling his keys from the pockets of his sagging deep indigo jeans. “Guys, even if I were unemployed and in dire straits, you couldn’t pay me to step in
and bail out that jackass.”

  Silence filled the room for a full minute once the door slammed behind Yohan’s back.

  “What now, Marc?” Ronald Grimes asked finally.

  Listening silently via speaker phone, Marcus Ramsey was silent a few seconds longer. Then, his voice came through the line and sounded uncommonly hollow. “I’ll be in touch,” he told them and ended the connection.

  “Too bad that man doesn’t have another son,” Ronald mused, massaging his tired eyes.

  Sean tugged his tie free. “Yeah, one who doesn’t hate him.”

  ***

  San Diego, California

  Tykira turned to face her husband across the gear console of the rented 4Runner she drove. “Baby are you sure about this?” she asked.

  Quay cast a lingering dark glare toward Lena Robinson’s house. “Someone has to represent the family and pay respects,” he said and sighed worriedly. “Besides, Wake was my best friend next to Q. It’s only right it should be me.”

  “Your phone conversation was just so tense, “Ty recalled, smoothing back a loose tendril from the heavy braid she wore. “This visit’s gonna be a hundred times more tense than that,” she predicted.

  “I don’t doubt that,” Quay admitted, pushing his cell phone into the front pocket of the white denim shirt he wore over a black T-shirt. “I’ve got no choice but to go in there though. I’ve waited too long already,” he decided.

  Ty only nodded, biting her lip on her next question.

  Quay glimpsed it and his grip loosened on the door handle. “What?” he asked his wife.

  “I was just thinking about what Fernando said at Mick’s shower. What if-what if Wake isn’t dead? What if this is all…” she couldn’t finish.

  Quay didn’t need her to. “Tyke if this is a hoax then I’m more than willing to play along if it’ll get us some answers. We certainly don’t have a damn thing else to go on,” he said and reached over to shut off the ignition.

  “Do you think there’s more?” Ty asked. “Do you think Marc’s involvement went beyond concealing evidence?”

  “I pray there ain’t more to it,” Quay groaned, rubbing his hands across the silky close cut hair. “Hell that’d give my father two monsters for brothers.”

  “It might at that,” Ty whispered, smoothing the back of her hand across his cheek.

  “But everything in my heart tells me Marcus’s involvement goes way deeper than anything any of us could imagine,” he confided, and then forced a smile to his face when he pulled his wife close.

  “Gimme some,” he urged, requesting a kiss that she very willingly provided. “Let’s go,” he whispered once they were done.

  ***

  Ketchikan, Alaska

  Melina gave her hands a quick shake and flexed them to increase the circulation she felt had grown stagnate. She did manage a smile, however, feeling refreshed already in the midst of the sea-kissed air.

  She arrived in Seattle from Memphis the night before. Mel decided to spend the first night in her hotel room at The Montgomery. The next morning, she took the ninety minute flight from Seattle to the port city along Alaska’s Inside Passage.

  More than once on the previous night, her fingers reached for the phone. She wanted to call Yohan. Of course, she didn’t know what in the world she’d say. To hear the sound of his voice…she believed the call would be so worth it.

  A second later she reminded herself that she’d be seeing her estranged husband soon enough. She didn’t have to be a psychic to know that the reunion wouldn’t be all hearts and flowers. The thought roused a wave of anxiety and shivers throughout her tiny frame. She warmed her hands inside the front pocket of the pink zip front hoody she wore with a pair of snug fitting Capri jeans.

  “Miss Mel?” A voice called, raspy and uncertain.

  Melina turned. Her slanting gaze widened with happiness when she saw Pony Scoggins who served as caretaker of the waterfront ranch Yohan owned in a remote area outside of Ketchikan.

  “Pony,” she called, greeting the lanky fifty-something man with a quick hug. “It’s been so long. How are you? How’s Flora?” she asked, referring to the man’s wife.

  “She’s real fine. Real fine, Miss Mel. Thanks for askin’.” Pony went on.

  “So,” Mel said, slapping her hands to her thighs, “when do we head out?”

  “In just a jif,” Pony said, pulling the dusty cap from his tanned weather beaten brow and scratching at his receding hair line. “I’ll be takin’ you all out on one of the float planes to the ranch as soon as I make a few last minute checks.”

  Mel nodded as a frown marred the area between her brows. “Pony?” she called when the man started to turn away. “Um, did you say ‘you all’?”

  Pony responded with a bold, gaping grin, proof that he’d been in one bar fight too many. He nodded and glanced past her shoulder. “Mr. Yohan, ma’am,” he said and turned away.

  Blinking madly, Mel watched Pony stroll away. She wanted to run after him instead of looking behind her; knowing what she’d see-who she’d see. Struggling to catch her breath, she decided to meet her fate and turned to greet Yohan Ramsey.

  No, it wasn’t a hearts and flowers greeting as she’d predicted. Still, the electricity in their midst spoke volumes. It snapped and fired fiercely-intensely as their eyes greedily absorbed one another.

  He was still as huge and as dark as she remembered. His rich, maple complexion was so close to hers but stretched taut over the bulging muscles of his arms, back and torso. He was a magnificent thing to look at-he’d always been. He was the epitome of strong and silent and Melina had been hooked from the moment she slammed into him while rushing to class during her sophomore year in college. She wondered if he was still soft spoken with that deep rumbling voice all warm and mellow. That voice was so similar to his incredible eyes-deep set and coaxing in their intensity. Their look instilled security and warmth upon first glimpse, but could turn fierce and menacing in an instant.

  Say something fool! A voice ordered her. While neither spoke, Mel felt obligated to do so first. Of course that was to be expected. After all, the last time she saw her husband, she told him they needed to talk.

  “What are you doing here?” was all she could muster, when she finally rose from under the spell his looks cast upon her.

  Yohan’s long lashes shielded his eyes from view when he glanced toward the ground and produced a double dimpled smirk. “Pony called,” he shared, looking past Melina’s shoulder.

  “Why would he do that?” she asked with a quick shake of her head. Something told her she already knew the answer.

  “He’d do that because I promised him a grand every time he let me know you were here,” he admitted, folding his arms across the front of the heather gray crew neck shirt he sported.

  Mel’s lips parted and now she could barely hear over her heart pounding in her ears. “It’s been eight years,” she noted.

  Yohan offered a one-shoulder shrug. “He’s a very dedicated man.”

  Mel surveyed the lush green beauty of the place and knew her hopes of quiet thinking time had flown right up into the blue sky. “I was hoping for some time alone,” she said, hugging her arms about her body. She looked up in time to see the warmth in Yohan’s ebony gaze turn cold.

  “Time alone?” he repeated, the muscle dancing a wicked jig along his jaw signaled his agitation. “So I take it you haven’t been getting that in Memphis?”

  Melina’s gasp sounded against the wind.

  “Your uncle,” he supplied, anticipating her next question. “You didn’t think I’d let eight years pass without knowing where you were?”

  “I don’t want to argue,” she said in a whisper.

  The glint in Yohan’s eyes didn’t diminish when he stepped close to tower over her. “I hate to disappoint you there, but an argument is definitely in our future.”

  “Han,” she tried, cursing herself silently when she felt years pressuring her eyes. She refused to let them fa
ll, though. Instead, she leaned on her anger.

  He read her emotions before she uttered another word. His uncanny ability to do that had always set her on edge. “I’m angry too, Mel,” he told her,

  Melina fixed him with an accusing glare. “I offered to give you your freedom, Han.”

  “My freedom,” he hissed, seeming to swell in the wake of his fury. “Dammit Mel, I don’t want my freedom. I want my wife back.” If possible, his voice was a soft roar-soothing yet terrifying. “I want you back on my arm, in my bed. Yes I’m angry,” he admitted, blocking the sun as moved closer. “I’m damn mad as hell. I’m frustrated and God help me after eight years I still love you. Like a fool I’ve given you eight years to come to me when I should’ve come to you, beat down your door and made you tell me why you gave up on us.”

  “Mr. Yohan! Miss Mel! We’re ready to set out over here!” Pony called, before heading back towards the landing strip along the river.

  Yohan tilted his head in acknowledgement to Pony’s announcement. Then he bent low to look directly into his wife’s eyes. “I’m not letting you out of my sight. Not until I get some answers Mel and they better be damn good.”

  He brushed past her, barely touching her as he did so. Melina let her eyes drift close. She wanted nothing more than to melt against him. She wanted to beg him to forgive her. She wanted to tell him she’d go wherever he wanted as long as they were together. But, that wasn’t to be. Could she ever hope for beautiful memories between them again?

  Fool, she called herself once again. He had every right to be angry. Every right. How could she tell him everything now? She wanted no more secrets between them and now she carried one that would shake the very foundation of his life.

  How could she tell him that Marcus Ramsey wasn’t his father?

  CHAPTER THREE

  He hadn’t meant to tell her about Memphis, Yohan thought as the floatplane carried them through the air towards the ranch. Telling her about Memphis was something he wanted no one to know.

  How many times had he tried to reassure himself that he hadn’t gone crazy? He wasn’t stalking her, he swore to himself. He simply wanted to know how she was getting along. Instead, all he really did was torture himself into an enraged state of mind. For the past eight years he’d tried to make himself accept the fact that she needed to go. She needed to go and he had to accept that no matter how much it killed him inside.