Best Kept Secrets (20 page)

As the head of Cole International and ColeDiz International, Ltd., he was at an impasse. He wanted to leave and return to Florida, but he also did not want to miss an opportunity to increase his cigar exports.

“Paullina is not a whore, Samuel.”

“I didn’t call her one.”

“But you implied—”

“I implied nothing of the sort,” Samuel said sharply, interrupting Everett. He leaned forward and stared intently at the ac
countant. “Don’t ever tell me what I’m thinking or implying, or you’ll find yourself looking for another job.”

He hadn’t raised his voice, but the effect was the same as Everett’s eyes narrowed. The two men glared at each other for a full minute, hostility as thick as the haze that hung over the jungle after a thunderstorm.

The interchange signaled a change in Samuel and his association with Everett Kirkland. He’d broken the most important of Charles Cole’s rules: never mix business with pleasure; in other words, do not fraternize with an employee.

One harvest Samuel had befriended a young boy whose family brought him along to pick cotton, and Charles had punished him severely.

He’d socialized with Everett and slept with Daisy. He hadn’t given it much thought as to why, because it still would not change the fact that he, as a married man, had shared a bed with a woman who was not his wife. There were the pat excuses for being an unfaithful husband—loneliness, frustration or revenge. He’d experienced none, so his sins were his own to claim.

Everett was the first to look away. His boss’s stare was chilling and intimidating. It was the first time he and Samuel had disagreed, and what bothered him was that it was because of a woman—a woman whose body and company he really enjoyed. Unlike Samuel, he did not have a wife to go home to each night—a wife he could discuss his day’s events with, a wife whose body he could have whenever he wanted it, and a wife whom he did not have to pay for her sexual favors.

He’d defended Paullina, arguing that she wasn’t a whore when she was. Although he shared her bed, so did many others. Paullina’s rule of “first come, first served” had him waiting patiently for her summons. She had finally made time for him when Samuel pounded on his hotel room door ordering him to be ready within the hour because they were going south. Turning,
he stared out the mud-spattered window. And if he argued with Samuel Cole again it would
not
be because of a woman.

The truck driver maneuvered down a rutted road to a valley where thousands of small plants dotted the lush hillside. Realization dawned as Everett sat up straighter and stared at the sight unfolding before his startled gaze.

“What do you think?” Samuel asked. His voice was as soft as sterile cotton.

Everett didn’t trust himself to blink, because he thought what he’d seen would disappear. “Well, I’ll be damned. Coffee.”

Placing a hand on Everett’s shoulder, Samuel nodded. “Yes. Coffee.”

Smiling for the first time since their confrontation, Everett looked at Samuel, seeing an expression of supreme confidence radiating from his near-black eyes.

“Is it for sale?”

“We’ll find out when we meet the owner,” Samuel said cryptically. “When I went to send the telegram to M.J., I overheard two men talking about a coffee plantation near San Isidro. Judging from their accents they sounded German, and because folks haven’t forgotten the war entirely, I thought while the Germans are arguing about whether they want to become coffee growers, we’d come down and take a look.”

“Coffee is different from soybeans, Samuel.”

He nodded. “And soybeans are different from cotton.”

Everett laughed softly. “Why is it I always forget that you’re a farmer?”

“I don’t know,” Samuel countered as the driver slowed the truck, stopping in front of a sprawling hacienda, “because I never forget that you’re a number man.”

Both men reached for the jackets folded across their laps, alighted from the truck and walked toward the house where they were met by a tall, slender, blond man with piercing blue eyes.
He shook Samuel’s hand, then Everett’s. The two men were complete opposites of the Germans who were interested in his coffee fields.

“Welcome. I’m Anthony Jones-Smythe.” His accent was distinctly British.

Samuel inclined his head, taking the initiative. “I’m Samuel Cole, and this is Everett Kirkland, partner and accountant for ColeDiz International, Limited.”

“Before I welcome you into my home, I need to know if you are serious about going into the coffee business.”

Samuel gave Everett a sidelong glance. The accountant nodded. “More serious than two German gentlemen I happened to overhear talking about your property in a telegraph office.”

The blue eyes hardened like chips of ice. “I wouldn’t sell a lump of coal to those two Krauts if they were freezing to death. The bastards killed my brother during the war.” His mood changed like quicksilver when he smiled and stepped aside. “Please come in, gentlemen.”

He wanted to sell his coffee-growing enterprise and return to England with his family. Malaria, dengue fever and a venomous snakebite had claimed the lives of three of his four children, and now that his wife was pregnant again, he did not want to risk burying another loved one in the jungle.

It took less than four hours for Samuel Claridge Cole and Anthony Jones-Smythe to tour the plantation and agree on a selling price.

As Everett manipulated numbers, Samuel drafted the paperwork to transfer ownership of an eight-hundred-acre Costa Rican coffee plantation located in a fertile valley five thousand feet above sea level from an English farmer to an American farmer.

“I will retain your foreman,” Samuel told Anthony. “He can move his family into the main house, and I’ll use the guesthouse whenever I come for a visit.”

Everett stopped making notations in a small notebook. “I’m going to need financial statements, payroll records, schedules of duties imposed by Costa Rica and foreign countries for the past three years.”

Anthony nodded. “I will have my accountant and solicitor send you whatever you want.”

A diminutive Indian woman walked into the room and nodded to Anthony. He removed a watch from his vest pocket. “The time seems to have gotten away from us. I’d be honored if you would spend the night. My driver will take you back to Limon tomorrow.” He stood up, and Everett and Samuel rose with him. “Whatever you’ll need in grooming aids will be in the guesthouse. We have talked enough. Now it is time to eat.”

Samuel and Everett shared a knowing glance. There was no need to wait out United Fruit Company’s labor unrest. They could do that back in the States.

E
verett hesitated, his hand resting on the door handle as he looked over his shoulder at Samuel. “I’ll see you Monday.”

Samuel nodded, his expression impassive. “Monday.”

Pushing open the passenger-side door, Everett picked up the bag sitting between his feet and alighted from the car. Cradling his luggage in one hand and a Panama hat in the other, he walked to the small cottage that had become his home. He hadn’t unlocked the door when he heard the sound of a car’s fading engine.

Spending the past three days in close quarters hadn’t eased the bad feelings toward each other. They’d argued about a woman, a woman he liked although she openly slept with other men, a woman Samuel labeled a whore.

But none of their hostility was apparent when they’d negotiated with Anthony Jones-Smythe to acquire his coffee plantation. It was as if they’d read each other’s minds, knowing which questions to ask, what terms to demand that would result in greater profits for the company.

As businessmen they were incomparable. As social companions they were incompatible.

This trip would signal the last one wherein Everett would mix business and pleasure.

Samuel parked his car in front of the storefront with a red-and-white-striped pole and walked into Goode’s Barbershop. He’d varied his routine. Usually he drove directly home after disembarking, but this time he wanted to stop for a haircut and professional shave before reuniting with his wife. He also wanted to take her out to eat to celebrate his impending coffee plantation acquisition.

Thinking of M.J. quickened his pulse. He missed her, couldn’t wait to see the changes in her body. A smile parted his lips. A baby. His wife was going to have a baby—his baby. The prospect of becoming a father was exciting and frightening. And it wasn’t for the first time that he wondered how much of Charles’s personality he had inherited when it would come to raising his children. There was one thing he was certain of and that was he would not beat his children as Charles had done him and his brothers. Charles had taken “spare the rod and spoil the child” literally.

Samuel decided to allow M.J. to discipline their children; he would only become involved with her permission, or if the situation exceeded her control. A knowing smile softened the angles in his lean, bearded face. He doubted whether his stubborn, independent, willful wife would
not
be in control of any situation.

Tobias Goode nodded to Samuel as he walked in and sat
down on a chair. Barely five-two, Tobias stood on a small stool as he wielded his scissors and clippers with an unusual skill that had most Negro men in Palm Beach County standing in line for him to cut their hair. There were arguments when he’d hired several assistants, so he let them go and continued to cut hair without help.

“Afternoon, Samuel. I’ll be with you directly.”

Samuel smiled at the elderly barber. “Good afternoon, Mr. Goode.”

He was glad he wouldn’t have to wait long. There was only the customer in Tobias’s chair ahead of him. The first Saturday he’d come to Goode’s Barbershop he’d waited almost two hours for a haircut. Not wishing a repeat of his introduction to having the skillful barber cut his hair, he now usually came in any day other than Saturday.

The bell over the door tinkled musically as it opened. Tobias Goode nodded to his latest customer. “Afternoon, George. I’ll be with you directly.”

Samuel smiled at George Burgess as he sat down beside him. He offered his hand. “How are you?”

George shook Samuel’s hand, his gray-green eyes warm and friendly. “Well enough, Cole. I hope you and your wife are coming to my boy’s farewell soiree tomorrow night.”

Samuel’s expression showed confusion. “What’s happening?”

“Didn’t your wife tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Edna sent your wife an invitation to come help us celebrate George Junior making it into West Point. She declined, saying you were away on business.”

“I was.”

“If she knew you were coming back, then why did she decline?”

A shiver of annoyance snaked its way up Samuel’s back. “Are you questioning my wife’s actions?”

The eyes that were warm and inviting became suddenly cold, the gray replacing the green until they appeared frosty. A rush of color had also darkened George’s high-yellow face at the same time the nostrils of his thin nose flared.

“No, Samuel,” the pharmacist said between clenched teeth. “It’s just that my wife and the other women have tried to make your wife a part of their group, but she has declined all of their overtures. I’ve made it a practice of not getting in womenfolk business, but you need to know that they regard her as a snob.”

Samuel flashed a feral smile. “I, too, try not to get involved with the goings-on of womenfolk, but I will make it my business to get involved if their menfolk are. First of all, M.J. didn’t know when I’d be back in the country, and secondly, perhaps her being in the family way precludes her from socializing with the other women at this time.”

The flush darkening George’s face deepened even more. Samuel Cole had chastised him in a way a father would his son. Embarrassment replaced annoyance. He’d listened to Edna go on about Marguerite-Josefina Cole, unceremoniously dismissing her and the other women as if they were beggars looking for a handout. She’s also complained that Samuel Cole’s wife refused every invitation they’d extended for their Wednesday bid whist luncheons.

“I’m sorry, Samuel. I didn’t know she was breeding. When’s the big day?”

Samuel accepted the backhanded apology with a barely perceptible nod. “Early February.’

George offered his right hand. “Congratulations.”

It was several seconds, but Samuel shook the proffered hand. “Thank you. And congratulations to your son for getting into West Point.”

“Thanks. It wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for Congressman Phelps. He’s my mother’s first cousin on her white daddy’s side of the family.”

“I suppose you have to use any advantage that you can in order to get what you want,” Samuel said sagely.

“You’re right, Cole. My mother said it was the only time being a white man’s bastard worked to her advantage.”

All conversation ended when Tobias summoned Samuel to sit in his chair.

Samuel walked quietly into his home with a close-cropped haircut and a smooth jaw from a professional shave. He left his bag near the door in the entryway. Raising his head, he sniffed the air and smiled. Something smelled good. Whatever it was would have to be put aside for the next day. Tonight he and M.J. were dining out.

He made his way through the living room, past the dining room, and into the kitchen. M.J. stood at the sink, her back to him. A single braid hung down her back. His gaze lingered on a loose-fitting colorful peasant dress ending at her ankles. Her tiny feet were bare.

Moving closer, he looped an arm around her waist and swung her up in an embrace. She let out a shriek seconds before she looped her arms around his neck, her eyes widening in shock.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?”

Samuel lifted his eyebrows. “Whatever happened to nice to see you? Or I’m glad you’re home?”

Tightening her grip around his strong neck, M.J. touched her nose to his, then brushed a kiss over his firm mouth. “I should geld you for being away so long,” she whispered softly.

He chuckled. “What, and make that baby in your belly an only child?”

She kissed him again. “Never.”

M.J.’s gaze moved slowly over her husband’s face. It was leaner; it was also darker than when they’d spent their honeymoon on Cayo Largo del Sur, and she noticed more flecks of gray in his close-cropped hair. A forefinger traced the length
of his nose, the outline of his wide mouth and the stubborn set of his strong chin.

“I love you, Samuel Claridge Cole.”

Smiling down at M.J. from under lowered lids, Samuel said, “Not as much as I love you, Marguerite-Josefina Diaz Cole.” He shifted her body. She’d put on weight. “Turn off the stove and put away whatever it is you’re making. I’m taking you out to a restaurant for dinner.”

M.J. pushed against his chest. “I can’t.”

Ignoring her request, he tightened his hold under her knees. “Why not?”

“We have a houseguest.”

Samuel went completely still as he stared at M.J. as if she’d taken leave of her senses. “A houseguest?”

She nodded. “Yes. My cousin Ivonne is staying with us.”

Struggling to contain his temper, Samuel drew in a deep breath. “For how long?”

M.J. lifted her shoulders. “For as long as she’d like to stay.”

Samuel lowered her bare feet to the linoleum. “You invited her?”

“Yes.”

“Without asking me?”

A spot of red appeared on M.J.’s fuller cheeks. “I didn’t think I’d have to ask your permission to invite family to come and stay with us. You didn’t ask my permission when you invited Everett Kirkland to come and stay with us.”

“Everett was only here for a few days. How long has Ivonne been here?”

“She came two days after you left. And I told her she could stay as long as she wanted.”

Samuel’s temper exploded. “You wait for me to leave, and then you invite your family to come live with us.”

“I didn’t wait for you to leave, so don’t make it sound as if I plotted behind you back. My cousin has been here when you
weren’t. Anything could’ve happened to me while you’re out seeking your fortune.”

“I sent you a cable asking if you needed me.”

M.J. rose on tiptoe, thrusting her face close to his. “And if I did need you I would’ve been dead before you got back. I feel like a widow with a husband who’s still alive. When you go away you have Everett Kirkland to keep you company. Who do I have, Samuel?”

Samuel held her shoulders, pulling her closer. “What about the women who live here? They’ve made overtures to befriend you, but you push them away with your snobbery and high-handedness.”

Her eyes filling with tears, M.J. struggled to free herself from Samuel’s loose grip. “How dare you come to me with something you know nothing about! Those so-called women whom you think so highly of are nothing but a pack of jackals. I invite them into my home and they repay me by insulting me to my face. They were rude, Samuel, and I don’t want to have anything to do with them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me they insulted you?”

“Why!” she screamed at him. “What would you do, Samuel? Confront them directly? Tell their husbands?” She shook her head when he did not reply. “I thought not. They hate me, and I hate them. Ivonne will stay as long as she pleases. And if you send her back to Cuba, then I’m going with her. I’ll stay there until my child is born. After that I’ll decide whether I want to come back.”

Samuel’s hands curled into tight fists, his eyes narrowing to slits. “You will not leave me.”

M.J. was too incensed to register the low, ominous quality in Samuel’s threat. “You cannot make me stay. What are you going to do? Chain me to the bed like a slave? What’s going to happen when you leave again on another one of your business trips? Will you pass the entire time wondering if I’ll be here
when you get back? Do not threaten me, Samuel Cole, because this is one deal you cannot win. And as surely I stand here and profess my love for you I will leave you.”

“You will
not
leave me,” he repeated so softly she had to strain her ears to hear. Turning on his heel, he stalked from the kitchen.

Covering her mouth with her hand, M.J. stumbled over to a chair and sat down heavily, willing the tears filling her eyes not to fall. Instead of welcoming her husband home with open arms and passionate kisses, she had talked of leaving him.

He did not understand. While he went off seeking his fortune she was left at home to entertain herself. It was different whenever he went into his office, because she knew he’d come home at night. But his trips abroad were different. She didn’t know whether he’d arrived safely unless he cabled her. And he was never certain how long he would be away. It could be a week or even a month, and when he returned he expected her to be the same as when he’d left her.

Sniffling, she shook her had. No! She wasn’t the same woman who’d exchanged vows with Samuel Cole in Havana almost eight months before. She was not a puppet to be manipulated by a man who sought to bend her to his will. She was a soon-to-be mother and wife to a man she loved enough to defy her father to marry, and a man whom she loved enough to sacrifice her life to keep safe from all harm.

She sat until the smell of burning food propelled her to her feet. Snatching the pot off the stove, she threw it into the sink, chipping the porcelain.

She cried silently, her shoulders shaking. The words she’d thrown at Samuel came rushing back as she gripped the edge of the sink to keep her balance.

Turning on trembling knees, she saw Samuel standing at the entrance to the kitchen watching her. He’d showered and changed his clothes. She took a step and before she could take
another one she found herself in his arms, his mouth covering hers and cutting off her breath.

“Where’s Ivonne?” he asked softly.

“She’s taking siesta.”

He smiled own at her. “It’s time you took siesta.”

Burying her face against his warm throat, M.J. sank into the comforting strength that communicated she was safe and would always be protected by the man cradling her gently to his chest. He carried her out of the kitchen and into their bedroom at the rear of the house. The door to the guest room was closed. Samuel placed her on the bed, then moved over her, M.J. watching his expression change from indifference to desire. She held her breath as his hands went to the many buttons on the front of her dress.

“What are you hiding from me under this?” he whispered, deftly undoing the buttons. The garment parted and he sat back on his heels, marveling at the changes in the body. Everything about her was ripe with the life growing inside her.

He placed his palm over her rounded middle, then lowered his head, his mouth replacing his hand. Samuel trailed kisses over her belly, along the curve of her fuller breasts, mindful of their sensitivity. He undressed her before worshipping every inch of her body with his tongue, not stopping until M.J. breathed out the last of her passion into his mouth.