by Lind Howard
She was still quivering with excitement and pleasure as she showered. Her skin was so sensitive from his lovemaking that even the act of bathing felt sexual. She couldn’t believe the raw sexuality of the night, but her body had no such difficulty.
Her hands moved over her wet abdomen. Was she pregnant? It had been three weeks since Nogales. She didn’t feel any different, she didn’t think, but then it had been an eventful three weeks and her attention hadn’t been on her menses. Her periods were so irregular anyway that she never paid much attention to the calendar or how she felt. He seemed oddly certain, though, and she closed her eyes as sweet weakness made her tremble.
She was glowing when she went down to breakfast. Webb was already there, halfway finished with his usual hefty meal, but he paused with his fork in midair when she entered the room. She saw his eyes linger on her face, then slip down her body. Tonight, she thought. Tonight, he’d promised. She filled her plate with more than she usually took and made an effort to eat most of it.
It was Saturday, but there was still work to be done. Webb had already gone into the study, and Roanna was lingering over her second cup of coffee when Gloria came down. “Lucinda isn’t feeling well,” she said fretfully as she began dipping scrambled eggs onto a plate. “Last night was too hard on her.”
“She wanted to do it,” Roanna said. “It was important to her.”
Gloria looked up, and her eyes were sheened with tears. Her chin wobbled a bit before she controlled it. “It was silly,” she grumbled. “All that trouble for a party.”
But Gloria knew, as they all did: that had been Lucinda’s last party, and she had wanted to make it memorable. It had been her effort to set aright the wrong she felt she had done to Webb ten years ago by not standing up for him.
Lucinda had been holding her decline at bay by sheer willpower, because there had still been things she wanted to accomplish. Those things were done now, and she had no more reason to fight. The snowball was rolling downhill now, picking up speed and hurtling toward its inevitable end. From long, quiet talks with Lucinda, Roanna knew this was what she wanted, but it wasn’t easy to let go of the woman who had been the family’s bulwark for so long.
Booley Watts called Webb that afternoon. “Carl told me what happened,” he drawled. “Interesting as hell.”
“Thanks,” Webb said.
Booley chuckled, the sound ending in a wheeze. “Carl and I both watched the crowd last night, but we didn’t see anything out of the way except for that little scene on the patio. Roanna was something, wasn’t she?”
“She took my breath away,” Webb murmured, and he wasn’t thinking just of the lovemaking that had happened later. She had been standing in the middle of the crowd like a pure, golden candle, her head high, her voice loud and clear. She hadn’t hesitated to wade into battle on his behalf, and the last part of him that had held on to the image of “little Roanna” had faded away. She was a woman, stronger than she knew and perhaps beginning to realize that strength. She was a Davenport and, in her own way, every bit as queenly as Lucinda.
Booley’s voice intruded into his thoughts. “Have you thought of anybody who would carry a grudge against you for that long, a grudge serious enough that Jessie was killed because of it?”
Webb sighed tiredly. “No, and I’ve wracked my brain trying to come up with something. I’ve even gone over old files, hoping I’ll notice a detail, remember something that would make sense out of all this.”
“Well, keep thinking. That’s what bothered me about Jessie’s murder from the beginning: there just didn’t seem to be any sense to it, no reason that I could see. Hell, even drive-by shootings have a reason behind them. So whoever killed Jessie—and I’m saying now that I don’t believe you did it—killed her for a reason no one else knows. If your theory’s right, then the reason didn’t apply to her anyway. Someone was after you, and she got in the way.”
“Come up with the motive,” Webb said, “and we come up with the killer.”
“That’s the way it’s always worked for me.”
“Then let’s hope we can figure it out before he takes another shot at me … or someone else gets in his way.”
He hung up and rubbed his eyes, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together but they simply refused to fit. He stretched and stood up. He had to go into town on an errand, so he had a decision to make: play it safe and take a roundabout route, or drive his usual route and hope he got shot at so he’d have another chance at catching the gunman—assuming the shot missed. Some choice.
Lucinda came down for supper that evening, the first time all day she’d been out of her room. Her color was waxy, and the palsy in her hands was worse than it had been before, but she was jubilant over the success of the party. Several of her friends had called her during the course of the day and told her it had been simply wonderful, which meant she had accomplished her aim.
They were all at the table except for Corliss, who had gone out earlier in the day and hadn’t yet returned. After chattering excitedly for several minutes, Lucinda looked at Roanna and said, “Dear, I’m so proud of you. What you said last night really made a difference.”
Everyone else, except for Webb and Roanna, looked confused. Lucinda had never missed much that was going on, though probably it was one or more of her cronies who had filled her in on what had happened on the patio.
“What?” Gloria asked, looking from Lucinda to Roanna and back.
“Oh, Cora Cofelt made a snide remark about Webb, and Roanna took up for him. She managed to make everyone feel ashamed of themselves.”
“Cora Cofelt?” Lanette was aghast, “Oh, no! She’ll never forgive Roanna for embarrassing her.”
“On the contrary, Cora herself called me today and apologized for her own bad manners. Admitting when you’re wrong is the mark of a lady.”
Roanna didn’t know if that was a dig at Gloria or not, for Gloria had certainly never admitted being wrong about anything. Lucinda and Gloria loved each other, and in a crisis they could each be relied on to support the other, but their relationship had its sharp edges.
Webb’s eyes met hers, and he smiled. Slowly, blushing a little, she smiled in return.
Number six, he thought triumphantly.
The front door slammed, and heels clattered unsteadily across the foyer tile. “Yoo-hoo!” Corliss yelled. “Where is everybody? Yoo—”
“Damn it!” Webb said violently, shoving his chair back from the table. The alarm went off, shrieking like all the fiends in hell. Everyone jumped and covered their ears. Webb ran from the room, and after a second Brock followed him.
“Oh, no, the horses,” Roanna cried, and darted for the door. When the alarm had been tested, the horses had all panicked. Webb had debated changing the alarm to one less shrill but had opted for the safety of his family over the nervousness of the horses.
The godawful racket stopped as she reached the hall, and instead she heard Corliss whooping with uncontrollable laughter and Webb cussing with every breath he drew. Brock turned on Corliss and yelled, “Shut up!”
Everyone else piled into the hall behind Roanna as Corliss straightened from where she was clinging to the huge, carved newel post at the bottom of the stairway. Corliss’s face twisted with fury. She worked her mouth and spat a gob of saliva at her brother. “Don’t tell me to shut up,” she sneered. The spit missed Brock, but he looked down at the wet splatter on the floor with disgust etched on his face.
Lanette stared at her daughter in horror. “You’re drunk!” she gasped.
“So?” Corliss demanded belligerently. “Just having a li’l fun, nothin’ wrong with that.”
Webb gave her a look that would have frozen antifreeze. “Then you can have your fun somewhere else. I warned you, Corliss. You have a week to find somewhere else to live, then I want you out.”
“Oh, yeah?” She laughed. “You can’t throw me out, big boy. Aunt Lucinda might have one foot in the grave, but until they’re both there, thi
s place isn’t yours.”
Lanette covered her mouth with her hand, staring at Corliss as if she didn’t recognize her. Greg took a threatening step forward, but Webb stopped him with a look. Lucinda drew herself up, her expression hardening as she waited for Webb to handle the situation.
“Three days,” he grimly said to Corliss. “And if you open your mouth again, the deadline will be tomorrow morning.” He glanced at Roanna. “Come on, we’d better go help get the horses settled down.”
They went out the front door and around the house; they could hear the horses’ frightened whinnies as soon as they stepped outside, and the thuds as the ones in the stable kicked frantically at their stalls. Webb’s long legs made one stride for every two of hers, and Roanna was practically running to keep up with him. Loyal and the few stable hands who were still at work at that hour were doing their best to soothe the terrified animals, crooning to them, trying to hold them still. True, most of the words they were using were lurid curse words, but they were uttered in the softest of tones.
Roanna ran into the stable and added her own special croon to the lullaby. The horses outside were just as frightened as the animals in the stable, but they weren’t as likely to hurt themselves because they had room to run. The horses in the stable were mostly animals with injuries or illnesses, and they could damage themselves even more in their panic to escape.
“Hush,” Loyal said to the hands, and they fell silent, letting Roanna sing. They all continued their petting, but Roanna’s voice had a unique quality to it that caught the attention of every animal in the stable. She’d had the gift from childhood, and Loyal had used it more than once to settle a frightened, nervous horse.
Webb moved down the rows of stalls, stroking sleek, sweating necks, just as they all were doing. Roanna sang softly, going from stall to stall, her voice pitched at just the right tone so that the horses’ ears pricked forward as if trying to catch every note. Within five minutes, all the occupants of the stalls were calm, if still sweating.
“Get some cloths, boys,” Loyal murmured. “Let’s get my babies dried off.”
Roanna and Webb helped with that, too, while Loyal checked each animal for any new injury. They all seemed to be all right, except for their original ailments, but Loyal shook his head at Webb. “I don’t like that damn squeal,” he said flatly. “And the horses ain’t going to get used to it, it’s too high pitched. Hurts their ears. Hurts mine too, come to that. What the hell happened?”
“Corliss,” Webb said disgustedly. “She’s shit faced and didn’t enter the code when she came in.”
Loyal scowled. “What Miss Lucinda was thinking to let that little bitch, pardon my French, move into Davencourt, I don’t know.”
“Neither do I, but she’s moving out within three days.”
“Not soon enough if you ask me.”
Webb looked around and located Roanna at the far end of the stable. “There’s some trouble going on, Loyal. Until it’s settled, I’m keeping the alarm because it’s loud enough to wake you even down here, and we may need your help.”
“What kind of trouble, boss?”
“Someone shot at me yesterday. I think it’s the same person who broke into the house last week and maybe even the same person who killed Jessie. After Corliss leaves, if that alarm goes off, then it’s a real emergency. In a worsecase scenario, you may be the only one who can help us.”
Loyal eyed him consideringly, then gave one abbreviated nod. “Reckon I’ll make sure my rifle’s cleaned and loaded,” he said.
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Miss Roanna doesn’t know, does she?”
“No one does except for me, Sheriff Beshears, and Booley Watts. And now you. It’s hard to catch someone if they’re looking for the trap.”
“Well, I hope this varmint gets caught real soon, because I’m not going to rest easy as long as I know that damn siren can go off at any time and make every horse here go wild.”
CHAPTER 20
The house was still in an uproar when Webb and Roanna returned to it, with Corliss now sitting on the stairs weeping hysterically and begging Lucinda not to let Webb throw her out. Not even her own mother was taking her side this time; drunkenness was bad enough, but to spit at her brother was totally unacceptable.
Brock was nowhere in sight, probably having removed himself from the temptation to do physical damage to his sister.
To Corliss’s sobbing entreaties, Lucinda merely gave her a cold look. “You’re right, Corliss. Despite my own foot in the grave, I am still the owner of this house. And as the owner, I give Webb full authority to act on my behalf, no questions asked.”
“No, no,” Corliss moaned. “I can’t leave, you don’t understand—”
“I understand that you’re leaving,” Lucinda replied, not bending an inch. “You’re disgusting. I suggest you go to your room now, before Webb’s threat to make you leave in the morning begins to sound even more delightful than it already does.”
“Mama!” Corliss turned to Lanette, a pleading expression on her tear-blotched face. “Tell her to let me stay!”
“I’m very disappointed in you,” Lanette said softly and stepped past her daughter on her way upstairs.
Greg leaned down and hauled Corliss to her feet. “Upstairs,” he said sternly, turning her around and bodily forcing her upward. They all watched until the pair reached the top of the stairs and turned toward Corliss’s suite. They could hear her sobbing until a door closed firmly behind her.
Lucinda sagged. “The ungrateful little wretch,” she muttered. Her skin tone was even more waxy than before. “Are the horses all right?” she asked Roanna.
“None of them were injured, and they’re quiet now.”
“Good.” Lucinda put a trembling hand to her eyes, then took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders once more. “Webb, could I talk to you, please? We need to go over some details.”
“Of course.” He put a supporting hand under her arm to steady her as they walked to the study. He glanced over his shoulder at Roanna, and their eyes met. His were steady and warm with promise. “Go finish your supper,” he said.
When he and Lucinda were alone in the study, she dropped heavily onto the couch. She was breathing hard and perspiring. “The doctor said that my heart’s giving out, too, damn it,” she muttered. “There, I’ve used a cuss word.” She peeped up at Webb to see his reaction.
He couldn’t help grinning at her. “You’ve used them before, Lucinda. I’ve heard you cuss that roan mare you used to ride until it was a wonder her ears didn’t singe and drop off.”
“She was a bitch, wasn’t she?” The words were fondly uttered. As hardheaded as the mare had been, Lucinda had always gotten the best of her. Until just a few years before, Lucinda had been strong enough to handle almost any horse she straddled.
“Now, what details do you want to discuss?”
“My will,” she said baldly. “I’m having the lawyer in tomorrow. I’d better get that chore taken care of, because it’s beginning to look like my time’s a bit shorter than I expected.”
Webb sat down beside her and took her frail, palsied hand in his. She was too shrewd and mentally tough for him to even consider trying to comfort her with platitudes, but damn it, he hated to let her go. “I love you,” he said. “I was damn mad at you for not defending me after Jessie was killed. It hurt like hell that you thought I could have done it. I still hold a grudge about that, but I love you anyway.”
Tears swam briefly in her eyes, then she blinked them away. “Of course you hold a grudge. I never thought you’d totally forgive me, God knows I don’t deserve that consideration. But I love you, too, Webb. I always knew you were the best choice for Davencourt.”
“Leave it to Roanna,” he said. His own words took him by surprise. He’d always thought of Davencourt as his, always expected to have it. He’d worked hard for it. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew they were right. Davencourt should be Roa
nna’s. Despite what Lucinda thought, despite even what Roanna thought, she was more than capable of handling it.
Roanna was tougher and smarter than any of them knew, even including herself. Webb was only now beginning to understand the strength of her character. For years everyone had thought of her as fragile, irreparably damaged emotionally by the trauma of Jessie’s death, but instead Roanna had been protecting herself, and enduring. It took a special kind of strength to endure, to accept what couldn’t be changed and simply hunker down and wait it out. More and more lately Roanna was coming out of her shell, showing her strength, standing up for herself with a quiet maturity that didn’t attract much attention, but was there.
Startled, Lucinda blinked several times. “Roanna? Don’t you think I’ve talked this over with her? She doesn’t want it.”
“She doesn’t want to spend her life reading financial statements and watching stock reports,” he corrected. “But she loves Davencourt. Give it to her.”
“You mean split the inheritance?” Lucinda asked in bewilderment. “Give the house to her and the financial holdings to you?” She sounded shocked; that had never been done. Davencourt and all it entailed had always been kept intact.
“No, I mean leave it all to her. It should be hers anyway.” Roanna needed a home. She had told him so herself; she needed something that was hers, that could never be taken away from her. “She’s never really felt as if she belonged anywhere, and if you leave everything to me, she’ll feel as if she wasn’t good enough to have Davencourt, even if she did agree to the terms of the will. She needs her home, Lucinda. Davencourt should have Davenports living here, and she’s the last one.”
