To Love and Cherish

by Diana Palmer

  “She had a plot,” Shelby said idly, naming a local funeral home and cemetery. She picked up a picture of her mother, a flashy publicity shot in a gilded frame that showed her perfectly capped teeth.

  “We set the funeral for day after tomorrow,” Brad said. “Is it all right with you if we have her friends as pallbearers?” He named six of her mother’s closest male friends from years past.

  She nodded quietly. “I don’t mind.” She looked up into his pale eyes. “Brad, did…did she go easily?”

  He smiled. “She never regained consciousness. She just went to sleep,” he said, his voice fading away. He bit his thin upper lip and the shimmer of tears dampened his eyes. “Went to sleep. She looked so beautiful….” His voice broke. He took a deep breath and went to the bar to pour himself a drink. He offered Shelby one, but she refused.

  She sat down in an armchair and stared blankly at the deep blue of the sofa across from it, so dramatic a color against the deep white shag carpet. The contrasts suited her mother.

  All of a sudden, she felt a sense of terrible regret. Perhaps if she’d tried a little harder, the distance between the two of them might have been breached. But her mother hadn’t even tried. Not at all.

  “Did she leave a note, or anything?” she asked Brad.

  He shrugged. “No note, no nothing.” He glanced at her. “No money either, I’m afraid,” he said apologetically. “You know how she liked to spend it. The house is all that’s left, and its sale will barely clear the bills.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Shelby said kindly. “I have a good job, you know, and very frugal tastes.”

  He flushed and looked uncomfortable. “I wasn’t implying…”

  “I know you better than that,” she reminded him. “She stayed with you a long time. I think she really cared, Brad.”

  His eyes dropped to his glass. “As much as she was capable of caring, yes, I think she did. I’m sorry you weren’t included in those vagrant affections of hers. She didn’t like being reminded that she had a grown daughter. You see,” he added wistfully, “she wasn’t grown herself.”

  Shelby nodded. “I know.”

  The house was terribly empty when Brad left. He and Shelby had gone to the funeral home earlier in the evening, and she came away feeling hollow, carrying with her the sight of her mother lying there like some beautiful marble sculpture on that lacy white background. The picture haunted her, and she almost asked Brad not to go. But he was just as torn up, and looked as if he needed more than anything a few hours at his favorite bar.

  The maids went to their quarters shortly after Brad left, and Shelby sat there amid all the glamour and luxury of her mother’s house, and wept for the childhood she never had.

  The phone was lying carefully off the hook. That had been necessary, because as soon as she and Brad went to the funeral home, they were besieged by reporters. It was news to most of them that the infamous Maria Kane had a grown daughter, and they went after her in droves. Where did she live, what did she do, how did she feel about her mother’s death? It was suicide, wasn’t it? Did she know why her beautiful, famous mother had taken her own life?

  It was an accident, Brad told them, losing his temper after they’d been hounded all the way out to the car. It was simply an overdose of sleeping pills, not suicide! But the press didn’t buy it, and in spite of their attempts at evasion, a carload of eager journalists tracked them back to Maria’s house.

  Brad finally went out through the basement and escaped. But there were still two or three of the newsmen left outside the front door, one of them with a crew of cameramen and lights from a local television station. They’d finally given up banging on the door, but they were still calling to Shelby through it in the dark, faintly lit by the outside torchlights. They were still waiting, like persistent vultures. Waiting.

  She heard a noise outside, and, thinking it was the reporters again, she ignored it. There came a loud, hard banging on the door.

  Her small hands went to her ears and she stood there in the middle of the living room and screamed. And screamed. And screamed, until the banging finally stopped. She collapsed onto the floor in a heap of beige with the silky caftan she’d found crumbling into soft folds around her slender young body as she shook with the force of the sobs she’d held back for so long. She’d never felt more alone and lost and hopeless. Her heart was breaking for what she’d never had—for love and affection and a little kindness.

  Like a dam breaking in the dark, she let all the emotion flow out of her in a burst of tears. She heard footsteps and the sound of the maid’s voice, along with a deep, quiet male voice that grew steadily nearer. Then there was the thud of a door closing, and Shelby felt eyes on her bent head.

  She looked up into a face she’d never thought to see again, into eyes that were narrow and dark with compassion as they traced the pathetic little figure alone on that thick, spotless white carpet.

  “What…are you doing here?” she asked in a choked, husky voice, seeing him blur as the tears misted in her eyes. Remembering what he’d said to her at their last meeting, her face closed up like a petal in darkness, her eyes big and wounded and hurting as they met his.

  “I came to see about you,” he said tightly.

  He was wearing a dark suit, the ever-present cream Stetson clutched tight in one dark hand, his boots gleaming in the light of the chandelier. His face was lined and haggard, as if he needed sleep, and his jaw was taut.

  Her lower lip trembled, but she lifted her face proudly. “I don’t need anyone, thank you,” she said in a strangled voice.

  His jaw clenched. The hand that was holding his hat almost crushed the brim. “Oh, honey,” he said softly.

  A sob broke from her lips and her eyes winced with the pain. “I hurt, King!” she whimpered.

  “I know.” He threw the hat onto a chair and lifted her up into his hard arms, crushing her slender body against the length of his, and she felt the warm, awesome strength of him. Her arms went jerkily around his broad shoulders, clinging, her nails biting into the fine material of his dark suit coat.

  “Hold me,” she sobbed. “Hold me tight. Make it stop hurting…!”

  “Time will do that.” His lips brushed her soft throat. “Let it out, honey. Cry it all out. I’m not going anywhere.” He rocked her like a baby, comforting, caring. “Cry it out, Shelby.”

  It took a long time, and she could hardly accept the irony of being comforted by her worst enemy. But maybe he felt a truce was in order in view of the circumstances. Finally, when she felt drained and numb, he mopped her face with his handkerchief and made her blow her red nose.

  He found the little blonde maid and had her make a pot of coffee while Shelby went to wash her face and get herself back together. He was sitting comfortably on the sofa when she came back, with his long legs crossed in front of him and his jacket and tie off. He looked the picture of masculine elegance, dark and sensuous and vaguely threatening as his hard eyes traced her body in the silky caftan.

  “That damned thing doesn’t suit you,” he said bluntly. “It’s too frivolous.”

  She sat down in the big armchair, tucking it around her curled up legs. “It was my mother’s,” she said. “I forgot to pack a gown.”

  He lifted a glass full of amber liquid. “I helped myself,” he said quietly. “It was a hell of a quick trip, and I haven’t slept since night before last.

  She gaped at him. “You flew here?”

  “I flew.”

  “A commercial flight,” she said softly.

  He shook his head. “My Cessna.”

  “You could have crashed it with that little sleep!” she burst out, horrified as she thought of all the things that could have gone wrong and caught him unaware if his mind had been foggy.

  He gave her a faint smile. “I don’t think so.” His eyes traced her flushed face. “Worried about me, Shelby?”

  She averted his gaze to the suit coat he’d thrown carelessly beside him on the sofa
. “I’d worry about anyone on a trip that long without sleep.”

  “Nicely parried.” He downed the drink and set the empty glass on top of the coffee table. He lit a cigarette and pulled an ashtray within easy reach of his hand. “Where’s your stepfather?”

  “In the nearest bar, I imagine,” she sighed. “He loved her very much.”

  His expression was moody, brooding, as he leaned back against the plush sofa cushions, smoking his cigarette while he watched her. “Yes,” he said absently, his eyes narrow, “I imagine he did.”

  “Would you like something to eat?” she asked as the little blonde maid, Melissa, brought the coffee on a tray and left it for them on the coffee table.

  He shook his head, dismissing the girl with a look that made Shelby’s blood burn.

  “I’m not hungry,” he said, with a quick glance at Shelby that didn’t miss the flareup in her eyes. “Are you?”

  She shook her head quickly. “I don’t feel very much like food.”

  He took the cup of coffee she poured for him and leaned back again. “Tell me about her, Shelby.”

  She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, curling up in the big armchair. “I didn’t know her very well,” she admitted. “My mother had very little time for me. My aunt actually raised me.”

  “Not a close relationship?”

  “No,” she said softly. “Not at all. I was constantly in her way when I was growing up. I used to think she accepted roles that meant she had to go on location to film just to get away from me.” She smiled wistfully. “When she was home, the house was always full of people. The parties went on all night. I was in the way. Always in the way. Of course, there was usually a housekeeper to put me to bed.” Her face went rigid, her eyes clouded, and she gripped the coffee cup.

  “Men, Shelby?” he asked gently.

  “A parade of them.” She shivered, and her eyes closed. “Stepfathers, boyfriends…Brad lasted longer than most, but he was only one of many. I could never…”

  “What happened?” he asked quietly.

  She licked her dry lips. “She married a European film star when I was fourteen. He liked young girls…and she was jealous I suppose of any attention he gave me.” Shelby’s big, dark eyes met King. “And mother kicked me out.” Her eyes fell away from the sudden fury in his. “I went to live with my aunt. Mother tried to buy my affections back when the marriage went on the rocks, but not because she cared. It was only a gesture. She…hated me from the day I was born.”

  He drew a deep breath. “My God, no wonder it upset you when I mentioned her,” he said finally. He let the frosted glass dangle in his lean fingers. “You might have told me, Shelby.”

  “And given you another stick to beat me with?” she asked softly.

  His jaw clenched. “I suppose it seemed that way, didn’t it?”

  “But you didn’t really have anything to worry about,” she reminded him. “I never planned to marry Danny. If you want to know the truth, I like him too much for that.”

  He scowled at her. “That’s a strange way to put it, honey.”

  “I didn’t get a very good impression of marriage,” she sighed.

  “It isn’t always like that.”

  She smiled at him. “How would you know, Mr. Brannt?” she asked mischievously. “You’ve never been married.”

  His eyes darkened. “I came close. If she hadn’t been such a damned little flirt….” He leaned over and crushed out his cigarette, only to light another one, and Shelby held her breath as he studied its fiery tip. “She was a lot like you, city lady,” he said bitterly. “All looks. The first day I carried her around the ranch, she started turning green. When I mentioned children, she turned around and ran. My money didn’t compensate for that one demand I’d planned to make on her.”

  She leaned her chin on her drawn-up knees in the concealing folds of the caftan. “Did you love her?”

  One dark eyebrow went up. “I wanted her.”

  “There’s a difference, they tell me,” she observed.

  “Don’t you know, young Shelby?” he mused.

  Her eyes fell before he could read the vulnerability in them that he fostered. “No,” she lied. “I wouldn’t know. I…I don’t have time to get involved with men. My life is too ordered.”

  “And you like it that way, don’t you, honey?” he asked with keen perception. “You don’t like any kind of intimacy with a man, even verbal.”

  She lifted her coffee cup from the table and sipped the lukewarm liquid. She didn’t answer him.

  Outside there was the sound of a car engine cranking up.

  “Maybe they got sleepy,” King remarked with a faint grin.

  “The reporters, you mean?” She shuddered involuntarily. “I’m afraid to go out there tomorrow. It’s frightening…all those microphones and cameras.”

  “You, afraid of a camera?” he taunted.

  “Now, yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” He leaned forward, studying her. “You must know how lovely you are, little girl.”

  Her eyes opened and looked straight into his, surprising a look in his eyes that she couldn’t begin to understand.

  “They’ll follow you home, Shelby,” he said quietly. “Your mother was old news, but you’re something new to pick to pieces. Until the scandal dies down, you’re the best copy going.”

  Her slight chest lifted and fell. “I know.”

  He set his glass down on the table. “Come home with me, Shelby.”

  She looked up, shocked. “What?!”

  “Come back to the ranch with me. It’s the one place you’ll be safe. I can protect you.”

  “Forgive me for asking,” she said breathlessly, “but why would you want to? When I left last time…”

  His eyes exploded in brown flames. “I could have taken a horsewhip to you and Danny both for that charade,” he said tightly. “But that’s past history. I won’t cut you into fish bait until you’ve had time to heal. But you won’t see any peace at all if you go back to that hole of an apartment you share with your girlfriend.”

  “It’s not a hole!” she protested. “And just because I’m not up to my ears in money!”

  “Calm down. I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

  “Weren’t you?” She sighed wearily. “King, it won’t work. You’ll be at my throat the minute we get to Skylance, and I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m so tired…”

  His eyes took in the paleness of her elfin face, the lines that grief and sleeplessness had added to it. He crushed out his cigarette and got up, moving lazily toward her chair. He reached down and lifted her gently in his hard arms.

  “King!” she whispered shakily.

  “Don’t panic,” he said quietly. “You’re safe enough.” He carried her back to the sofa with him, and sat down, cradling her across his lap. “Just be still, Shelby. I won’t hurt you.”

  Inch by inch, she relaxed against his warm, strong body, letting her cheek ease down on his shoulder, letting her eyes close as the fatigue began to take its toll.

  He shifted, drawing her closer, his cheek resting on her soft hair in the sudden stillness of the big, empty room.

  “Go to sleep, little girl,” he said softly. “I’ll keep the wolves at bay for you.”

  She snuggled closer. “You can be nice.”

  “When I have to,” he agreed quietly. “I don’t particularly like being nice to you.”

  “I know. Why, King? Do you really hate me that much?” she asked drowsily.

  He laughed bitterly. “Remind me to tell you all about it someday. Close your eyes.”

  She obeyed him and felt the world fading in and out as drowsiness washed over her like a warm, comforting wave. In seconds she was fast asleep in his arms.

  She woke up feeling warm and safe, and snuggled against something padded that seemed to pulse under her ear. Her eyes opened slowly and she saw that the pillow was a silky white shirt with br
onzed flesh peeking out of the opening down its front, along with a patch of curling dark hair. She blinked. Under her ear was a hard, heavy heartbeat.

  She lifted her head and looked straight into King’s faintly amused dark eyes, suddenly aware of the warm, masculine body pressed against the length of hers.

  “I thought you didn’t sleep with men,” he murmured.

  She flushed. “I…what happened?”

  “I couldn’t pry you loose,” he said bluntly. He reached in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it, one lean arm still holding her at his side. He pulled an ashtray closer on the coffee table and settled back.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  His hand pressed her closer to his side for an instant. “Don’t apologize. I like the feel of you. It’s been a long time since I’ve held a woman through the night.”

  “Oh,” she gulped.

  “Could you manage not to sound so damned outraged?” he growled. “My God, Shelby, I’m a man. I’ve never pretended to be a saint.”

  She flushed. “I didn’t imagine that you were.”

  “Didn’t you?” He turned his head sideways to study her through narrowed eyes. “I had the distinct impression not so long ago that you didn’t think I’d know a woman from a heifer.”

  The blush deepened because, in her innocence, she’d honestly mistaken that cool exterior of his for an equally cool nature.

  “That’s just what I thought,” he murmured.

  Her eyes fell to the open collar of his shirt. “I wasn’t sitting in judgment on you.”

  “But you thought that, all the same.” He tilted her chin up so that he could see her eyes. “You found out just how hot-blooded I was the night we made love in my study. Was it a shock, Shelby?”

  Her eyes dilated wildly, and her mouth opened on a wave of embarrassment.