“What happened between you and Stef?” he asked, making no pretense at early morning niceties.
The ease left County’s face, her eyes clouding with a distant look. She tried to leave the bed, but Fernando wouldn’t move from above her.
“What?” she snapped, jerking on the covers tangled between her fingers.
Fernando’s mesmerizing light eyes were intense as they studied her face.
Contessa refused to let him unnerve her any further. “What Ramsey?” she challenged, fixing him with her own intense gaze. “Are you upset because the man looked at me longer than you liked last night?” A naughty smile softened her lips. “I’m a gorgeous woman, you know?”
“Well my soon to be ex-partner wasn’t the only one watching you last night,” he informed her. “I was observing you too and now I want you to spill it because the next person I ask will be Stefan and I promise you I’m not apt to be nearly as sweet.”
“And this is just why I kept quiet, dammit. I don’t need you running off in some murderous rage,” County blurted, running shaky fingers through her dark, cropped hair. “You already broke the man’s nose. Next time, you’re liable to break something more vital,” she grumbled.
“So it’s that intense, huh?”
“Ramsey-“
“Tell me.”
“It’s really not.”
“Now Contessa.”
“Fernando please.”
He interrupted with a soft curse, then whipped back the covers and stalked nude from the bed.
County was silent until she saw him jerk into the navy blue trousers he’d worn the night before. “What are you doing?”
“Goin’ to find Stef,” he said, snatching a matching shirt from the floor, “beat it out of that son of a bitch,” he added.
Knowing he meant every word, County bolted from the bed and grabbed the hem of his shirt as he jerked into it and stormed towards the door.
Fernando turned, taking her by the arms the instant he felt her touch him. Gently, he placed her back on the bed. “Talk or I go cave in that fool’s nose again,” he threatened.
“Alright!” she hissed, wrenching herself free of his hold. She concentrated on pulling the sheets tightly around her nude body.
Fernando knelt before her a knowing smile deepened the curve of his heavenly mouth. “I advise you to tell me the truth instead of the lie you’re trying to put together.”
County flashed him a scathing glare and brushed his hands from her knees. “If it matters, I think he was probably just trying to see how loyal I am to you.”
Cupping her chin, Fernando tilted her head back and smiled. “What happened? That’s all you need to tell me.”
“The morning he came to my house to give you that invite to the meeting today he…said some things,” she revealed in a tiny voice, her eyes widening when she saw him bristle. “Honestly Fernando, I don’t think-“
“Did he touch you?”
“Fernando-“
“Did he put his hands on you, County?”
Contessa was fast losing her ability to remain unfettered. Memories of that day; and the way Stefan Lyons made her feel unsafe in her own home, came barreling forth vengefully. “He um…he pulled me to him and…”
Fernando nudged her chin with his thumb, but she wouldn’t look at him directly.
“He reached beneath my shirt and…” she could go no further.
She didn’t need to. Fernando studied her movements, noticing as she gestured toward her hips and thighs.
“Son of a bitch,” he whispered and stood.
“Fernando!” County called, racing out after him when he stormed from the room. “Fernando wait!” she cried, blocking the door before he could walk out. “It’s over. I handled it and it’s done,” she gasped, trying to hold the sheet around her and keep the door blocked at the same time.
“Not the way I’ll handle it,” Fernando promised, his expression soft as he watched her.
“Please let it go. Please,” she urged, standing on her toes and linking her arms about his neck. “Please…” she soothed, showering his jaw with soft kisses.
Fernando tilted his head and kissed her deeply. County shivered from arousal and triumph, certain she’d succeeded in taking his mind off any and everything else. She thrust her tongue against his in wild abandon and relinquished her hold on the sheet when he lifted her high against him.
Fernando settled her back to the bed and tucked the heavy comforter around her. “Find something to do today. I don’t want you anywhere near that meeting,” he said, dropping a kiss to her shoulder.
County made no effort to argue further.
***
“The perfect usher into a peaceful night’s sleep. Yeah, right,” Melina sighed as she scanned the boastings printed on the back of the box of herbal tea she held. The product had not lived up to its claims as she’d had one of her most peaceless nights ever.
Of course, she had to admit nothing short of a full bottle of Bourbon would’ve put her to sleep after the blowup with Yohan the night before. Rarely had they ever argued except for the few times they had it out over Marc-another reason why she refrained from discussing the man with his son.
His son, Mel replayed the phrase in her mind. How in the world did I wind up in the middle of all this? She asked herself, fluffing out her hair as she paced the living area of her suite. Josephine was somewhere hiding out and Crane had left the job to her. Little did they know, she was far too much of a coward to go through with the deed. But why? The question stopped Mel in her tracks as she closely considered it. The fact that Marc wasn’t Yohan’s father certainly wasn’t her fault. Why was she so against telling him? The possibility of Yohan racing off to kill Marc had worn thing long ago. While it was still a definite probability, it wasn’t the reason she was so against telling him. The trouble was she hadn’t a clue as to what it was.
The phone’s ringing shocked her so, that the tea box tumbled from her hand to land with a low thud to the counter where the hotel provided coffee maker and condiments rested.
Mel closed her eyes, praying briefly that it was Yohan. Perhaps she could coax him out of his mood. “Yes?” she greeted, shoving a hand into the front pocket of her robe.
“Mel?”
“Crane,” she sighed, massaging her forehead. “I haven’t told him,” she said, before he could ask.
“I’m sorry for this, Mel. So sorry,” Crane whispered, hearing the strain in her voice. “I’ve put you in this difficult place and I’m so sorry.”
“Difficult?” Mel snapped, her anger taking root. “Difficult? You have no idea what a difficult place is Crane Cannon. My husband thinks I’m having an affair. He’s seen you visiting and leaving my house in the wee hours of the morn,” she jibed humorlessly, punching a fist into one of the sofa cushions.
“He’s been to Memphis? He-he’s seen me?”
Melina felt her anger simmer and cool as quickly as it had heated. She truly realized then what a trial this situation had to be for Crane. He’d spent over thirty years unable to tell his only son who his real father was.
“Sweetheart, I am sorry,” he was saying, sounding as though his emotions were lodged in his throat. “The last thing I want is for you to think I’m forcing you. It’s just…whoever knows about Josephine and me wants this secret out.”
Mel frowned. “Crane?” she inquired, not liking the sound of his voice.
“I’m beginning to think this is about more than ruining my chances to be elected. It may have nothing to do with the election at all. Whatever the reason, I’d much prefer Yohan being told by someone he trusts-loves.”
Weariness took its toll and Melina flopped to the sofa, unable to argue Crane’s logic. “I’ll tell him-I’ll find a way. I will tell him Crane.”
He chuckled softly. “I know you will, love. I’ll say goodbye now,” he whispered and the connection ended.
Melina held the phone to her ear a few seconds longer, and then set it aside
. She pressed her fingers to her eyes as they filled with water.
***
“Oh my goodness! Look at you!” Johnelle Black laughed upon opening her door to Michaela around eleven a.m. that morning. “Are you sure there’s only one baby in there?!”
Mick rolled her eyes, savoring the hug from Johnelle. “Bad jokes are definitely one of pregnancies nastiest side effects,” she grumbled.
It was all in fun. Over the years, Michaela and Johnelle had become close friends. So much so, that Johnelle picked up her Georgia roots and completely relocated to Seattle, Washington. She often said that Mick was not simply her newest friend, she was her only friend.
“Sweetie, is it good for you to be out and about so late in the pregnancy?” Johnelle asked, keeping her arm about Mick as they journeyed toward the kitchen.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Mick assured the woman with a wave of her hand.
Johnelle gave a satisfied nod. “Let’s get you a glass of juice,” she decided and headed for the fridge.
“I came by because I wanted to tell you in person about Sera…about the book,” Mick clarified when Johnelle looked up. “I’ve decided to write it.”
“Oh Mick,” Johnelle breathed, setting a glass of cran-apple juice to the white oak table before taking a seat, “that’s so wonderful. I’m so glad that you’ll see this through ‘til the end.” Her eyes clouded then. “Mick what about Quest? How will he take this?”
Again, Mick waved her hand. “He’ll be fine. But I didn’t just come to talk about the book, Johnelle.” She said, fluffing out her elegant emerald green blouse. “I have some new information on the case and it’s information I just can’t believe.”
“Well what, Mick? Please!” Johnelle urged, bouncing in her seat as she spoke. “Is it more evidence?” she guessed.
Michaela grimaced, propping her chin beneath her fists. “It’s a story I was told.”
Johnelle nodded. “A story.”
“In essence, about a woman who discovered her husband was cheating.” Mick began, knowing this had to be done delicately as well as accurately. “She followed him to the woman’s house many times and continued to drive by the woman’s house long after her husband had ended the affair. And one day she met the woman’s husband and she was as unhappy as he was. Their friendship turned into a love affair. She got pregnant and aside from the fact that she was married to a very powerful man, the baby’s father was white and in Savannah…well, that would’ve been impossible.”
“White?” Johnelle breathed, the tiniest lines of suspicion beginning to tug at her brow. “Mick what does this have to do with the book? With Sera?” She asked, sounding as though she already knew.
“The woman was Josephine Ramsey-the father of her child was Crane Cannon.”
“How do you know that name?” Johnelle gasped.
“At first, I didn’t know how. I couldn’t think of where I’d heard it. Then, I remembered Sera’s diary. She mentioned him in there.” Mick shared, watching Johnelle hold her head in her hands. “Johnelle, how could you allow Sera to see a Ramsey much less be attracted to one when you knew they were blood?”
Johnelle looked up, her eyes were blank. “What are you saying?” she whispered.
“Johnelle, Crane is Yohan’s Ramsey’s father. You were having an affair with Marc Ramsey and got pregnant with his child-Sera.” Mick slapped her hands to the table. “Josephine claims that’s why he stopped seeing you. Because you’d become pregnant.”
“It wasn’t like that, it wasn’t like that,” Johnelle chanted, her voice trembling as badly as her body.
Mick’s frown deepened. “Then what?” she snapped, bringing her hand down on the table again. “What Johnelle? How could you let this happen?”
Johnelle’s eyes were red with tears. “Mick I swear to you I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”
The whispered words stopped Mick cold. “What are you saying?” she asked, tilting her head to look directly into the woman’s eyes.
“Marc can’t be her father-he can’t be,” Johnelle moaned, rocking herself a little as she spoke. “Oh God Michaela, he can’t be.”
Mick was scared, but pulled her chair closer to Johnelle and began to rub her back. “Johnelle?” She whispered, knowing the woman’s shock was just a bit too irregular.
“Oh my God,” Johnelle spoke, suddenly her voice was clear. In her eyes, however, was a look of sheer terror and she seemed to tremble more violently.
Mick took her hands and shook her hard. “Johnelle?” she called, signing when the woman jerked out of her trance. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
Johnelle looked down at her lap, and then held her forehead in her hands. “Michaela…Sera wasn’t my child.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mick sat still and remained quiet while Johnelle left the table and went to the bar in the living room that connected to the kitchen. Mick wasn’t surprised to see her pull the familiar looking flask from somewhere behind several tall decanters. She waited, watching as Johnelle drank deeply from the silver container.
“I met Crane in Atlanta,” she said after savoring the alcohol that warmed her insides. “We were both from there and back then…well white and black love was taboo,” she smiled and gave a lazy shrug. “But we said ‘to hell with what the world thought’. We decided to get married and foolishly believed relocating to Savannah would make things easier-at least no one knew us there.” She strolled back toward the kitchen, still clutching the silver flask. “Crane was just getting his first gallery store open and he decided to just commute from Savannah to Atlanta where he usually spent the better part of the week. That was the second nail in our marriage coffin,” she told Mick with a knowing smirk.
“Anyway, I was miserable and quickly discovered how bad I was at making the sudden change from miserable to ecstatic when my husband finally came home.” Her expression lightened. “The one bright spot about being in Savannah was that my sister lived there.”
Mick noticed Johnelle’s expression dim as quickly as it had softened. “It wasn’t such a bright spot, I assume?”
Johnelle’s brows rose in confirmation. “She lived so bad, so shabby. Hmph, shabby is probably even too good of a word. More than once, I was tempted to call the housing authority or somebody who could force the landlord to get that place in order. But Grace told me not to make a fuss.” Johnelle recalled, referring to her sister then. “She never quite had it all. Looks, but not much else, you know?” she asked, watching Mick nod in understanding. “And I probably could’ve walked away had it not been for the kids.”
“Kids?” Michaela repeated.
Johnelle smiled. “Grace had a one year old and another on the way. A single mother raising two kids in that sort of environment…I snapped and finally decided to go blast the landlord, the owner-somebody.” She began to smooth her hands across the sleeves of the lightweight yellow cotton top she wore. “Somebody turned out to be Marcus Ramsey. He owned the building and I had every intention of threatening him with the housing authority if he didn’t fix up the place.”
“Did he make any changes?” Mick asked, smiling at the scornful look Johnelle sent her way.
“His changes made it look like putting a fur coat on a pig and I remember having the distinct impression he was trying to impress me.” Johnelle shook her head as though the idea made her ill. “I tried to get Grace to leave, but the woman wouldn’t budge. She kept saying things were going to improve as soon as the baby came. Anyway,” she sighed, tossing the flask to the sink, “I kept pleading with Marcus about the apartment and he kept drawing me in. I never went to the housing authority or any other authority. Inside of two months, he had me in bed.” Her lashes fluttered and she folded her arms across her waist. “With Crane gone half the time, it was easy to live the lie. Then, my sister had the baby and all hell broke loose. I went to visit Grace at the hospital and found her in tears.” Johnelle said, her own voice shaking on a sob. “The father wanted her to give up the
new baby and the fool was gonna do it!” she spat, throwing her hands up in the air. “I didn’t take time to think, I told her to give Sera to me. I couldn’t stand the idea of some stranger having my niece-my daughter.” Her emotions got the better of her then and she broke into tears. “Oh Mick, I loved her like she was my own. You know that, don’t you?”
“Shh…” Mick urged, walking over to bring Johnelle back to sit at the table. “Of course I do,” she soothed, sitting close to Johnelle. “How did Crane handle it?” she asked after rubbing the woman’s back for a time.
“Things were really good at first. Crane…he was a good father-he really loved Sera and he was even working more steady in Savannah.” Her expression soured then. “Probably because of Josephine and; as we all know, not even a baby can freshen something that’s already soured.” She shrugged and brushed a tear from her cheek. “So we separated and eventually divorced. I gave Sera my last name and raised her on my own.”
“And Marc?” Michaela asked.
“Cut things off the minute he realized I was a new mom-the jackass.” Johnelle muttered.
“Did you ever meet Josephine Ramsey?”
Johnelle nodded. “Many years ago. In a park. Sera was a baby. I didn’t know who she was until years later, she…she stopped by the house to offer condolences after Sera…died,” she coughed, trying to smother a sob. “I was going through some of Sera’s things-my mind was a mess. I ran out of the room crying while Josephine was still out there. When I came back, she was gone.”
Mick folded her arms across her chest. “And what about your sister?”
“Hmph. Lived in that rat hole until Steffy went to college. She died a few years back-had a bad heart she never took care of.”
A tiny frown sharpened on Mick’s dark face. “Steffy-a girl?”
“Boy. Short for Stefan.” Johnelle grimaced. “The only reason my sister could keep him instead of Sera, I guess. The father craved sons. Obviously he didn’t crave taking care of them. Although he did send Stef to college.”
The Ramseys Boxed Set Page 79
