Cole Cameron's Revenge

by Sandra Marton

  More and more, he thought about going home. About seeing Ted and maybe even somehow reconciling with his father.

  Mostly, he thought about going back to claim Faith, and the life they could have together. He was in the midst of making plans to do just that when a letter arrived from Ted. The en­velope was dirty and torn; it looked as if it had followed him around the world for almost as long as he'd been away.

  Cole opened the envelope and read the letter inside. It said that his father was dead. He'd had a heart attack and died more than a year ago.

  He waited to feel some sense of loss for the man who'd sired him but there was nothing except a small, cold disap­pointment that he'd been deprived of the chance to confront Isaiah and tell him how wrong he'd been about his youngest son.

  Dad left everything to me, Ted wrote. Of course, that's not the way it should be. We'll sort things out when you get home.

  Cole smiled tightly. Ted would think that way but he didn't want a penny of the Cameron money. He turned the letter over, blinked at the next line.

  I don't quite know how to tell you this. Understand, I did it because of what you told me, to take care of Faith. She was so alone after you left, so desperate...

  "No," Cole whispered, "no..."

  His brother was married. Married to Faith, to the girl Cole loved, the girl he worshiped, the girl whose memory was all that had kept him alive while he'd struggled to find a place for himself in life. Isaiah, damn him, had been right.

  I love you, she'd said, I'll never love anyone but you ...but she'd been after the Cameron name and money all along.

  The rest of the letter was a blur. Cole crumpled it in his hand; a roar of anguish ripped from his throat. Men standing near him looked up, then slowly moved away. They were roughnecks, same as he. They could handle themselves any­where black gold oozed from the earth, but not one of them wanted to deal with what they saw in Cole Cameron's eyes that day.

  He tore the letter into tiny pieces and flung them to the wind that swept endlessly across the desert sand. Then he turned his back on home, on Ted, on Faith, on everything he'd ever been stupid enough to let himself believe in or want.

  From that moment on, the only thing Cole believed in was getting rich.

  And the only thing he wanted was revenge.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Liberty, Georgia, today.

  JUNE had come to Georgia, bringing with it heat so fierce it might have been midsummer. Even now, at a little before nine in the morning, the air was thick and weighted with humidity.

  Faith, sitting before her dressing-table mirror, all but groaned with despair. Any other morning, she wouldn't have been bothered by the weather. She'd grown up in the South and she knew that the only way to deal with summer was to ignore it. You scraped your hair into a ponytail, put on shorts, T-shirt and sandals, and left your face scrubbed and bare.

  But not today.

  In just over an hour, she had a meeting with Sam Jergen, Ted's lawyer. She had to look like Faith Cameron, not Faith Davenport. Jergen didn't like her. He still thought of her as a seventeen-year-old tramp who'd trapped his client into mar­riage nine long years ago. She'd known that the minute she'd met him, but the lawyer wasn't stupid. He'd been careful to treat her with respect while Ted was alive.

  He gave up the pretense the day of the funeral.

  "Sorry for your trouble, Miz Davenport," Jergen had said as he took her hand, and then he'd smiled slyly. "Sorry about that. I meant Miz Cameron, of course."

  Of course, Faith thought, tightening her jaw.

  What he'd really meant to call her was one of the names the town used for her, but she hadn't given him the pleasure of reacting. She wouldn't today, either, even though she fig­ured he'd do his best to demean her.

  Tears blurred Faith's eyes.

  Ted, gone.

  She still couldn't believe it, that her husband had lost his life in an automobile accident on a rain-slicked back road be­tween Liberty and Atlanta. The weeks since then had gone by in a haze. There'd been people coming and going, supposedly to offer their condolences but really, she knew, to get a first good look at her now that nobody was around to protect her from gossip.

  It was old gossip, but what did that matter? Gossip could linger for a lifetime in a place like Liberty, especially when it was juicy. And what could have been more juicy than her quick trip up the altar with one Cameron brother after she'd been ditched by the other ... except, maybe, the speed with which she'd become pregnant?

  Faith picked up her brush and stroked it through her hair.

  Oh, if only she could cancel today's meeting-but there wasn't any point in putting off what had to be done. Jergen had made it clear this was important.

  "It's about your husband's estate," he'd said.

  She'd almost told him to stop trying to sound so officious. What would take place this morning wasn't any surprise. This was the formal reading of Ted's will but she knew what was in it. Her practical husband had insisted on telling her the details of the document he'd suddenly decided to draw up a year ago.

  He'd left everything to her, in trust for Peter. "It's his birth­right," he'd said.

  Faith had hesitated. "Are you sure you don't want to leave something to..." She couldn't say the name. "To your brother?"

  Ted's eyes had darkened, just enough so she knew that time hadn't dulled the pain he felt. He hadn't heard from Cole since he'd sent him the letter about their marriage. Though they never talked about it, she knew he was blind to the truth; he couldn't or wouldn't see Cole for what he was, but she un­derstood that. Love could warp your judgment. Hadn't she wept nights for Cole, even after he'd abandoned her? She, at least, had come to her senses.

  "No," he'd said softly, "there's no point. Cole hated this house. He hated our father. He wouldn't want anything that carries the Cameron name. But I know he'll come back some­day, Faith. And when he does, you have to tell him the truth. He's entitled to know he gave you a child, just as Peter has the right to know the man who's really his father."

  Faith stared into the mirror. Cole wasn't entitled to any­thing. Not from her. As for Peter... She couldn't imagine a time she'd want to hurt him by telling him that his real father had run out on her. Her child was better off going through life thinking of Ted as his father. He'd be happy that way, and her son's happiness was all that mattered. It was why she'd agreed to marry Ted-and why she'd decided to leave Liberty, as soon as the formal reading of the will was over.

  This morning, after the lawyer finished with all the legal rigmarole, she'd have the money to start life fresh and she was going to do it in a place far from here, a place where "Cameron" was just another name. Making the decision hadn't been easy. Despite everything, Liberty was home. But there was that old saying, something about home being where the heart was.

  Without Ted, this place had no heart. The sooner she left, the better.

  Faith rose from the dressing table, walked briskly to the closet and opened it. She ran a hand along the clothing hang­ing from the rod, pausing when her fingers brushed over the pink suit she'd worn for Ted's funeral. People had stared at her openly, condemnation glittering in their eyes. The hell with them, she'd thought. The suit was for Ted, who'd hated black.

  But today wasn't about her love and respect for Ted. It was about Peter's future. She had no idea what it took-if, in fact, it took anything-to set in motion the things that would set the two of them free of Liberty. She knew nothing about the financial aspects of the life she'd lived as Mrs. Theodore Cameron. Ted had handled all of that.

  She chose a cream silk blouse, then a black silk suit. Silk, on a day like this. She'd probably melt from the heat, but it was the right outfit to wear. She dressed quickly, grimacing as she pulled on panty hose, a bra, even a half-slip. The blouse stuck to her skin almost as soon as she slipped it on but at last she was ready, her skirt zipped, her jacket buttoned, her feet jammed into the confines of a pair of low-heeled black leather pumps.

&n
bsp; She took a deep breath. "Ready or not," she said softly, and turned to the mirror.

  The suit was fine, businesslike and purposeful, and so long as she kept the jacket buttoned nobody would know that beads of sweat were already forming beneath the blouse. The shoes were okay, too. But her hair...

  "Dammit," Faith muttered.

  It was reacting to the humidity the way it always did, by spinning itself into gold curls instead of lying in the soft, lady­like waves she wanted. Her face was shining, too, despite its unaccustomed dusting of powder.

  So much for looking cool and confident. She looked the way she felt, uncertain and grief-stricken at the loss of the only person who'd ever truly cared for her. Perhaps, she thought wryly, the mirror was determined to reflect a portrait of the inner woman instead of the outer one.

  "Mommy?"

  Faith swung around. "Peter?"

  Her son pushed the door open and came into the bedroom, his face solemn-too solemn for a boy his age. Her heart swelled with love at the sight of him. She squatted down and opened her arms wide. Peter walked toward her and when he was close enough, Faith reached out and drew him close, sigh­ing as she felt the tension in his stiff body.

  "Mommy? Alice says you're going to town."

  Faith drew back, smiled and brushed his silky chestnut hair back from his forehead. "She's right."

  "Do you have to go?"

  "Yes. But I won't be long, sweetheart. Just an hour or two, I promise."

  Her son nodded. He'd taken Ted's death hard. Lately, he didn't want to be away from her side.

  "Would you like me to bring you something?"

  Peter shook his head. "No, thank you."

  "A new game from the computer store?"

  "Dad bought me one, just before... He bought me one." Peter's lip quivered. "I wish he was still here, Mommy."

  Faith gathered her son tightly into her embrace. "Me, too." She held him for a minute, inhaling his little-boy scent. Then she cleared her throat, cupped his shoulders and held him out in front of her. "So," she said briskly, "what are you going to do until I get home?"

  Peter shrugged. "I don't know."

  "How about phoning Charlie and asking him over?"

  "Charlie isn't home. Today's Sean's party, remember?"

  Damn, Faith thought, of course. She was so wrapped up in her own worries that she'd forgotten her son's distress at being the only boy who hadn't been asked to his classmate's party.

  "Why wasn't I invited, too?" Peter had said, and she'd come within a breath of telling him the truth, that the town was already reassessing her position and his in Liberty's rigid social order.

  "Because Sean's a ninny," she'd said with forced gaiety, "and besides, why would you want to go to his old party when we can have a party right here, all by ourselves?"

  "It's a good thing you reminded me," Faith said. "That means today is our party, too. I'll pick up some goodies on my way home."

  "Uh-huh," Peter said, with polite disinterest. "Let's see... I'll get some liver..."

  "Liv-er! Yuck. I hate liver."

  "And some Brussels sprouts..."

  "Double yuck!"

  "Or maybe lima beans. That's it. Liver, and lima beans, and tapioca pudding for dessert-"

  "The stuff with the eyeballs in it?"

  "Sure. Isn't that your favorite meal?"

  "No way, Mommy! Lima beans and liver and eyeball pud­ding isn't a party!"

  "Isn't it?" Faith grinned. To her delight, her son grinned back. "Well then, I guess I'll have to pick up some yucky stuff like hamburgers and French fries and chocolate malteds at the Burger Pit."

  It was a bribe, she thought a few minutes later, as she drove out the gates of the Cameron estate and turned her station wagon onto the main road, but so what? It had brought a smile to her little boy's face. His happiness was everything to her.

  Ted had felt the same way.

  Ted, Faith thought, and she felt the sorrow welling inside her heart again. What a wonderful man he'd been. The people of Liberty thought so, too, even if they also thought he was a fool to have married her.

  Her hands tightened on the wheel. What had made him come to see her, that fateful day nine long years ago? Cole had been gone just a little over seven weeks when he'd knocked at the trailer door. Her mother had opened it, then stepped back with a little gasp.

  "My word," she'd said. "You must be... Faith? It's-it's Mr. Cameron."

  Faith had been in the tiny kitchen. Her heart had leaped into her throat at the sound of those words. "Cole," she'd said, "oh, Cole..."

  But it was Ted she saw, when she came racing to the door. She knew him by sight, though they'd never spoken. Ted was years older than Cole. He worked in the bank his father owned. The only other thing she knew about him was that Cole said the two of them were as different as night and day.

  "What do you want?" she'd said, disappointment sharp­ening her tone. Ted had smiled and said he'd come to see her, acting as if he made visits to trailer parks all the time, and saying, "Yes, thank you very much," to her flustered mother's offer of a cup of tea.

  "Are you okay?" he'd asked quietly, once he and Faith were alone.

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "Look, Faith, I know you and Cole... I know he meant a lot to you-"

  "Cole?" Faith tossed her head. "I hardly remember him."

  "Faith. Please. I know you're hurt-"

  "You don't know anything!" Without warning, she started to weep. "I hate your brother. You hear what I'm saying? I hate him!"

  Ted's gaze went from her face to her hand. She looked down and realized that she'd inadvertently placed her hand protectively over her still-flat stomach. Heat rushed to her face as she looked up and her eyes met Ted's.

  "You're pregnant," he said softly.

  "No!" Her face turned white. "I'm not ... pregnant," she said, the word hissing softly from between her teeth. She shot a nervous glance over her shoulder. "You go home, you hear me? Just just get out of here and-­

  "Don't lie to me, dammit. You're carrying my brother's child."

  The fight went out of her like air from a collapsing balloon. She sank down on the stained sofa and he sat down beside her, his eyes never leaving hers.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "Keep your voice down!"

  "Faith." Ted took her hand. "You have to tell me what you're going to do."

  "I'm not getting rid of my baby," she said, jerking her hand from his, "if that's what you were thinking."

  "I don't know what I'm thinking," he said honestly. "Aren't you still in high school?"

  "So?"

  "So, how can you hope to take care of a baby?" "I'll do what I have to do."

  "Meaning, you'll quit school, take a job at the Burger Pit, have your baby and bring him home to this place."

  Faith felt her cheeks flame. "'This place,"' she said, trying to sound offended but knowing she probably only sounded defensive, "is my home."

  Ted was blunt. "Sure," he said, "and that's what you want for your baby, right? And for yourself?"

  How she'd despised him that day! He'd forced her to see that cramped, ugly little room; to smell the stink of beer rising from the sagging furniture; to hear her father's snores coming through the pressboard walls while he slept off a drunk.

  Cole used to hold her in his arms and tell her he'd take her away from all this someday but Cole had lied. Now she sat beside his brother while he told her, in painfully bleak terms, that she'd never escape this life, that, worse still, her child would never escape it.

  "Let me help you, Faith."

  "I don't want Cameron charity."

  "I'm not talking about charity, I'm talking about doing the right thing for Cole's child. What are you going to tell people, when they see that you're pregnant?"

  "I don't have to tell them anything," she said, even though it was a lie. Liberty wasn't the kind of town where you could tell people to mind their own business.

  "You mean, you'd rat
her keep your pride and let people play guessing games about who put that baby inside you?"

  "They'll do that anyway."

  Ted shifted closer to her. She could still remember the sound of the ancient springs in the sofa creaking as he did.

  "You're right," he said softly. "That's why I'm not offer­ing you money."

  "Well, that's something. I meant it when I said-­

  "I want you to marry me, Faith."

  She'd gaped at him, certain he'd lost his mind. "Marry you?"

  "That's right."

  "Are you crazy? I don't want to marry you. I don't love you. I don't even know you."

  "That makes two of us. I don't love you or know you and, frankly, I don't want to marry you, either."

  "Then, why..."

  "For the child, that's why. You owe him a decent life."

  Ted took a long, dismissive look around the trailer before lock­ing eyes with her again. "Unless you prefer this."

  "I grew up just fine without your big house and all your money," she replied fiercely.

  "Yes," Ted said, "you did. But don't you want your child to have more? Don't you want him to be legitimate?" He leaned forward, reached for her hand. "Tell me you love that baby enough to let me do the right thing for you both."

  "You think what you're suggesting is the right thing?" Faith tried to tug her hand from his again but he wouldn't let her. "I'd sooner marry the devil than marry a Cameron."

  Thinking back, she knew she hadn't quite pulled it off. Her words had tried for bravado but her voice had quavered with despair.

  "Cole asked me to look after you," Ted said quietly.

  To this day, she hated herself for the way her foolish heart had jumped at those words.

  "Did he?" she whispered, then answered her own question. "No. No, he didn't. Cole doesn't give a damn about me. He proved it by leaving without so much as a goodbye. He never even tried to get in touch with me, right after the night we'd­ the night we'd-­