Belle Pointe

by Karen Young

  “But I’m here now.”

  Anne turned to find Buck standing in the shadows. After a second, he moved forward, reaching out to Paige. “I’m sorry, kid. I let you down, didn’t I?”

  With her eyes swimming in tears, Paige scrambled out of his reach. “Hey, don’t apologize,” she said, looking at him with scorn. “It’s nothing to you what happens here. It was dumb of me to even think it.”

  Buck took a step, intending to touch her.

  “Don’t you even,” she said to him hotly. As she backed away, it was to Anne that she spoke. “If he really cared, he would come here more than once every three years!”

  With a smothered cry, she dodged Buck’s attempt to catch her by ducking around a chair, then swept past them in a dash for the front door. Without looking back, she rushed inside and slammed the door hard behind her.

  Buck muttered an oath and moved as if to follow, but Anne stopped him. “Let her go.” She sensed the turmoil inside him, but the moment when he might have helped Paige was over. Shivering, Anne wrapped her arms around herself.

  Buck turned and pulled her close. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  It took but a few minutes to say their goodbyes and make a dash in the now drizzling rain to the SUV. Both were more than ready to leave and neither said much as Buck drove away from the big house and headed out Belle Pointe Lane toward the highway.

  “You look shell-shocked.”

  “What?” Anne turned from her study of the SUV’s busy windshield wipers. Buck was hunched behind the wheel, waiting to enter traffic.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said, staring straight ahead. “Warm and fuzzy, the Whitakers ain’t.”

  “No, but it wasn’t so obvious in the few times we visited before. Was it?” She thought not. Or maybe their visits had been so brief that his folks had been on their best behavior. “I already had a pretty good fix on Pearce from interviewing him, and Paige has been fairly blunt describing life at Belle Pointe. There was just so much…hostility.”

  “Pressure, I guess.” Seeing a chance to pull out onto the highway, Buck took it. “Pearce is caught up in his campaign and whether he admits it or not, he doesn’t have the election sewed up, so the stress is building. And here’s my mother facing a planting season without help. And Claire—” He stopped. “What the hell is going on with Claire?”

  “You’ve known her a lot longer than I have,” Anne said, unwilling to mention Claire’s fixation on Jack Breedlove. “What do you think?”

  “I think living with Pearce would make anybody drink too much.” They drove in silence for a couple of miles, both thinking. “Hell, it’s no wonder Paige went ballistic,” he said.

  “She’s the one to be concerned about. She’s so angry and frightened, Buck. That’s what her bizarre look is about—the black clothes, the orange hair, the body piercings, the tattoos. She’s saying, look at me. It’s just a matter of time before she does something more reckless and crazy than dyeing her hair or piercing her ears.”

  By the time she was done, he’d pulled into the Marshes’ driveway and stopped. “Tattoos?” he repeated.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Jesus.”

  They sat for a moment without making a move to leave, both caught up in their own thoughts. It struck Anne that they were more in tune tonight than they’d been in a long time. In spite of the chaos that reigned at Belle Pointe, she and Buck had somehow drawn closer. Maybe leaving their way of life behind in St. Louis, even temporarily, had been a good thing. Sad that losing her baby had been the motivation for leaving.

  With a sigh, Anne reached down and unfastened her seat belt. “It’s late. I need to go inside.”

  Before he could stop her, she’d opened the door and was out of the SUV. Hampered by his cane, it took a minute to meet up with her on the sidewalk. “I’d ask you to come back to the lodge with me, but I don’t think I can take any more pain tonight,” he said, keeping it light. Taking a chance anyway, he wrapped his free arm around her and turned his face into her hair. “Damn, you smell good.”

  “Not smoky?” She slowed her steps to accommodate his shuffle with the cane. “Claire must have smoked half a dozen cigarettes while we talked. I thought I’d have to take a shower before going to bed.”

  He groaned, pulling her even closer. “Don’t mention getting naked or going to bed unless you’re inviting me in.”

  For a moment, she let herself enjoy the feel of Buck’s strong, hard body pressed to hers. The scent of him was familiar and arousing. She was too honest to deny that. And it would be so easy to just unlock the door and take him straight to the guest room. Neither her dad nor Beatrice would blink an eye. In fact, she thought they were both secretly sympathetic to Buck. On that thought, she wiggled free and began rooting through her purse for a key.

  Buck, giving up gracefully, propped himself against a small square column while she searched. “Have you rented a car yet?”

  “No, I probably should, but Beatrice has been so generous about letting me use hers that I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

  “I’ll get you one tomorrow.”

  “Buck—”

  His mouth set stubbornly. “You need your own wheels. Beatrice is nice to lend hers, but she’s running a business, babe. It’s an imposition, not that she’d ever tell you that in a million years.”

  He was right, of course. She’d thought the same thing a dozen times. “Okay, okay. I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”

  “Let me do it for you, Anne.”

  She had the key out now. “What, you think renting a car is a guy thing? No, Buck, I’ll go to the rental agency and pick it out myself,” she told him firmly.

  “I don’t think it’s a guy thing. But you’re not in St. Louis now,” he said patiently. “This is Tallulah. There’s not even a car rental agency here. Do you want to take the time away from your job to locate one? C’mon, let me do this for my wife.”

  After a beat or two, she gave him a reluctant smile. “Okay, now that you put it that way. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. More than welcome.” He touched her face. “I miss you. I want to take care of you. I’d like to have you at the lodge where I can see you every day. And every night…”

  He brushed his thumb over her cheek and then over her lips. Anne felt a little rush of desire…again. A part of her thought briefly about backing away and scooting inside. But now he was tipping her chin up and his lips were so close that she could almost taste him already. So she let her eyes close and her lips part. And welcomed his kiss.

  All Buck’s instincts urged him to take the kiss deeper and he was helpless to resist. He pulled her into a full embrace, pushed his sex against hers. Damn it, she needed to be reminded how it was between them. How it could be again. He heard the rush of her breath and let his fingers glide down the line of her throat…and then drop to her breasts. God, soft and warm and womanly. And his. Maybe communication was a problem in their relationship, but sex definitely wasn’t, he thought with satisfaction.

  He broke the kiss and spoke in her ear, “Let’s go to the lodge,” he said hoarsely.

  “Oh, God, I didn’t mean that to happen.” She pushed with both hands on his biceps and stepped back. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

  He heard the breathy sound in her voice and he could tell she was tempted. Maybe if he pushed…But no, the next move had to be hers, he thought. When they came together, it would be because Anne was ready, not because he hustled her with sex. Even though he was hot and throbbing and ready. God, was he ready.

  It took every ounce of control he could muster to nod and let her go.

  Without looking at him, she ducked inside. And then, just before the door closed, she paused and raised her eyes to his. “Just one more thing…”

  “Yeah?” Curt and one beat short of rude.

  “I think—” Anne cleared her throat, knowing he had a right to be ticked off. “I meant to say this before, but—anyway
, I think you should take your mother up on her offer to help with the planting season while you’re here.”

  He looked at her with hostile eyes. “And why would I want to do that?”

  “You’ve separated yourself from Belle Pointe, but you still love it, Buck. If you can’t play baseball, what harm could come from spending a growing season doing something else that you love?” With only her face and one hand visible in the crack of the door, she held his gaze for another long moment. “Just…think about it, okay?” In a heartbeat, she closed the door and left him alone.

  Ten

  “That’s a pretty fierce frown for someone who’s been to a party,” Beatrice said, peering at Anne over the rim of her reading glasses.

  “Oh!” Anne slapped a hand to her chest, then sagged against the stair rail kicking off her shoes. “Lord, you gave me a fright.”

  Anne’s head was spinning, not so much from her passionate response to Buck’s kiss—he could always melt her down to her toes—but until they worked through their problems, resuming a sexual relationship would complicate things even more than they already were. What had her in turmoil was seeing the dysfunction in Buck’s family. The evening had been an eye-opener.

  Beatrice rose from the sofa in the living room. “I’m sorry, I thought you saw me from the front window.” She set her book aside and removed her reading glasses. “How was dinner at Belle Pointe?”

  “Interesting. And that’s a mild word for all that happened tonight.” Anne touched her forehead. “Wow, they’re something else. Maybe it’s a good thing that Buck keeps them at arm’s length.”

  “You can’t say something like that and go to bed leaving me agog with curiosity,” Beatrice said dryly. “I know I’m supposed to respond politely with something like…” she pursed her lips primly, “‘Well, dear, if you want to talk, I’m willing to listen.’ Forget that! We’re having a cup of tea and you’re telling all.”

  Anne laughed. “I’d actually like a cup of tea. And maybe it won’t sound so awful if I talk about it to someone who’s neutral.”

  “Well, I don’t know how neutral I can be, but I’m a good listener.” And with that, Beatrice headed for the kitchen. Anne followed, still barefoot.

  They chatted as Beatrice put the kettle on while Anne took cups and saucers from the cabinet. As she and her stepmother went about the familiar ritual of brewing tea together, she was struck by how quickly they’d gotten so comfortable. In a very short time she had come to look upon Beatrice as not just a friend—but more. If she had to lose her mother, as sad as that was, she felt fortunate to have Beatrice to fill the void. Almost.

  “By the way,” Anne said when they were both seated, “I told Buck tonight that while he’s here I thought he should do as Victoria asked and lend a hand at Belle Pointe.”

  Beatrice’s eyes widened. “Really. And what did he say?”

  “I think he wanted to say ‘mind your own business,’” Anne said with a wry twist of her mouth. “I could have chosen a better time, I guess. He was pretty ticked off at me about then.”

  “Was this before or after he kissed you? Because neither of you looked angry. Just the opposite.”

  Anne laughed at the teasing note in Beatrice’s tone. “Were you looking?” she asked in mock accusation.

  “Did you forget those two wide-open windows that front on the porch?” Beatrice said with a grin. “I was sitting on the sofa in plain view. Not that either of you noticed as you seemed to have eyes only for each other.”

  Anne released another sigh, softer this time, as her smile faded. “The problem in my marriage was never about sex, it was…other stuff.”

  “Well, talking seems a good start to working your way out of that…other stuff,” Beatrice said mildly. “And kissing won’t hurt either.”

  Amused, Anne said, “I think my dad has married a born romantic.”

  “Anybody can see the two of you are still in love, Anne,” Beatrice said softly. She paused, stirring her tea. “But maybe you’re responding to Buck’s change of heart about sharing his feelings.”

  “Some of his feelings,” Anne said, studying her cup with a thoughtful frown. “But I have a feeling there’s more, Beatrice. I don’t know what it could be or how significant it is—at least to Buck—but there’s more. There’s something he’s keeping to himself and it’s dark. I feel it.”

  “Then, because he’s worth it and your marriage is precious, you can afford to give him time,” Beatrice said mildly.

  Anne smiled. “Is there a charge for your counseling services?”

  “Yes, more frequent visits once the two of you are reunited.” She turned serious and, with her elbows on the table, regarded Anne over the rim of her cup. “Claire was there, I assume?”

  “Yes.”

  “How is she?”

  Glad to get away from the subject of her own troubles, Anne launched into her impression of Pearce’s troubled wife. “She was very friendly to me tonight, but I got the idea that she was there because Victoria demanded it, not because she wanted to be. For most of the evening, she behaved a bit outrageously, frankly. Underneath I felt she seemed…oh, fragile, I guess.”

  “That’s an astute observation coming from someone who hasn’t seen her in several years.”

  “Not really. She revealed quite a lot about herself when we talked. She seems unhappy, but she tries to mask it with a brittle sort of sophistication.”

  “Frankly, I’m worried about her. For Paige’s sake as well as for Claire herself. Did she drink too much?”

  “Well…” Anne hesitated.

  “Never mind. I’m sure she did. And what was Paige’s reaction? She knows her mother drinks too much.”

  “She was…upset.” Anne described Paige’s outburst. “Anybody can see why she’s angry and confused. What with her mother drinking and her father blinded by his colossal ego and Victoria’s rigid style, the atmosphere was just plain lethal toward the end.” She stirred her tea furiously. “What fourteen-year-old wouldn’t be upset?”

  Beatrice stood up in agitation. “This is so unhealthy for Paige!” Hugging herself, she paced the floor. “For Claire, too, of course. When are they going to acknowledge that something’s wrong? How long are they going to pretend that Claire can cope simply because Victoria expects her to?”

  “Simply having the Whitaker name seems to be a big thing with Victoria,” Anne said, recalling Paige’s outburst. “Paige mentioned it tonight, but she’s far from honoring it in spite of her grandmother’s dictates. As Paige sees it, she’s forced to act in a way that’s false and misleading.”

  “And she rebels by wearing those outlandish black clothes and painting her hair orange,” Beatrice said. “It’s so sad.”

  With a hiss of impatience, she turned from the window and faced Anne. “I’m sorry. I should keep my opinions about Claire and Paige to myself, but it’s just so difficult knowing how unhappy they both are.”

  “I know. I feel the same way. And just for the record, Claire is aware of your positive influence on Paige and she’s appreciative.”

  “Yes, I know,” Beatrice said sadly, “but that’s Claire talking. For me, there’s a fine line to be walked there. Victoria will tolerate only so much.”

  Anne decided not to comment about her mother-in-law. Hesitantly, she traced the rim of her cup with one finger before looking up. “Were you aware that Claire and Jack Breed-love were high school sweethearts?”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Claire told me herself.”

  “Yes, I knew it.”

  Anne was no longer surprised by how much Beatrice knew of the goings-on in Tallulah. “Were they very much in love?”

  “Maybe you should ask Jack that question.”

  “My interview techniques are pretty good, but I don’t think I can get away with asking that, Beatrice. Besides, I’ve got enough material.”

  “I know he was crazy about her,” Beatrice said, dabbing at a spot of tea on the place mat.
“I knew Claire’s parents well, Bert and Madeline Schofield. Until just last year before he retired and they moved somewhere in Florida, he was president of the bank and Madeline was active in Tallulah society.” She glanced at Anne with a twinkle in her eye. “You’re looking skeptical, but there is such a thing as a pecking order around here and Madeline was at the top.”

  “And Jack was at the bottom.”

  “I see you already know the story.” Beatrice took her cup to the sink.

  “Buck said they disapproved and somehow managed to break them up.”

  “And Jack joined the army.”

  Anne studied the dregs in the bottom of her cup. “Star-crossed lovers,” she murmured.

  “Now who’s sounding like a romantic?” After rinsing her cup, Beatrice turned to face Anne. “I’ll just say this. Claire, as a teenager, was a handful for Bert and Madeline. The capers that girl pulled…well, I recall a few that make Paige’s antics look tame. As they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, so it’s no wonder to me that Paige is a handful. Combining her mama’s genes and Pearce’s is enough to make anybody a little willful.”

  The subject of genes reminded Anne of her baby. “May I ask you something, Beatrice? It may be too personal and I won’t be offended if you’d rather not discuss it.”

  There was an instant’s hesitation, almost too brief for Anne to be sure it was there. Then Beatrice said with a smile, “Ask first and then I’ll decide if it’s too personal.”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about my miscarriage, about genes and my own unknown genetic background. About Buck’s reluctance to be a father. About my aging ovaries. Maybe it’s not meant for me to have a child at all.” She brushed at a few grains of sugar spilled on the table, then looked into Beatrice’s eyes. “You’ve never had children and you seem…satisfied with your life. Have you never wished it otherwise? Do you have any regret?”

  She could see instantly that she had blundered. Beatrice was too still, too pale. “I’m sorry,” she said, feeling color steal into her face. “Please, just—”