Fire And Ice (7 page)

He watched her narrowly, not a hair out of place as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth with steady fingers.

“That was disgusting,” she bit off, her eyes accusing, glittering.

A shadow clouded his eyes, but his bland expression didn’t change. “You asked for it, honey,” he replied casually.

“Not me, mister,” she returned, fighting to catch her breath. “I don’t get my kicks by being mauled.”

He frowned slightly. “Is that what you call a kiss, Silver—being mauled?”

She stood up and moved away, her knees slightly weak, her mind whirling with confusion. How could she tell him, make him understand how deep the scars from her marriage went? He’d never understand, anyway. Not a male chauvinist like him!

“I’m going to bed,” she choked, licking her dry lips to find the taste of him still on them.

“Running from the enemy?” he taunted.

She turned with her hand on the doorknob, gloriously beautiful in her fury, her green eyes like Colombian emeralds, sparkling in the sun. “God only knows what you’re capable of,” she flung at him.

He leaned back against the sofa, his eyes insolently appraising. “Well, don’t get your hopes up, honey,” he murmured. “I have to toss the women out of my bedroom as it is. You’d have to wait in line for the chance.”

“I wouldn’t even buy a ticket,” she assured him.

“That works both ways,” he returned. He laughed bitterly. “It was like making love to a corpse.”

She caught her breath. That hurt. It actually hurt. She turned, opening the door.

“Margie!” he called suddenly.

She paused for an instant, with her back to him, then rushed into the hall and slammed the door behind her. She didn’t stop running until she got to her room.

Five

M
argie and Cannon barely spoke at the breakfast table, and she avoided his gaze completely. She couldn’t bear the mocking amusement she knew she’d find there, the memory of his kiss was still too fresh.

“What time are your guests coming, dear?” Victorine asked Cannon as they finished breakfast and settled back with a second cup of coffee.

“At six,” he replied, and Margie felt his eyes on her. “I meant what I said about clothes, Mrs. Silver. If you come down those stairs in anything shocking, I’ll carry you back up them myself.”

Margie didn’t reply. She kept her eyes doggedly on her plate and listened while his chair scraped as he stood up. Then there was a muffled sound followed by footsteps dying away.

“Well,” Victorine murmured, watching Margie. “What was that all about? Did you two have a falling out?”

Margie lifted her eyes, grateful that Jan and Andy hadn’t been around to witness the scene. “You might call it that,” she murmured curtly. She sipped her coffee. “He’s just insufferable!”

“So was his father,” Victorine volunteered. She smiled wistfully. “But I loved the old devil to distraction. I found quite by accident that when he was the most furious and intimidating, I could calm him right down just by putting my arms around him.”

Margie stared at her. “I’d rather be shot than put my arms around Cannon.”

The older woman grinned. “Would you, really? Or does he disturb you, my dear?”

She shifted nervously. “He…frightens me.”

“Yes, I know. You frighten him, too. He’s never been so hostile to a guest before. I can see him bristle when you walk into a room, and his eyes follow you everywhere.”

Margie looked hunted. She reached for her coffee cup too quickly and almost upset it, then caught her breath sharply as she righted it again.

Victorine placed a gentle hand over hers. “Don’t be intimidated by him, Margie. He’s tough, because he’s always had to be. But one thing I can promise you, he’d never deliberately hurt you.”

She almost disputed that, until she realized she
had
provoked him into that violent confrontation. And then she began to wonder why. Had she known, even then, that if she made him angry enough, he’d touch her? Had she wanted him to?

“He’s a very lonely man,” the older woman continued.

“That isn’t what he told me,” she muttered, her eyes narrowing. “He said he had to shake the women out of his bed.” She remembered to whom she was talking and flushed.

Victorine grinned delightedly. “Now I wonder why he said such a thing?” she murmured. “And it’s not true. Since Della left him—rather since he threw her out—he’s had no deep involvement with any woman. Oh, there are the glittery women that he’s sometimes seen with. He’s a man, after all, my dear. But he’s kept his heart quite deliberately tucked away, out of reach. And he hasn’t allowed anyone close enough to touch it.”

Margie studied the black liquid in her cup with a preoccupied stare. “May I ask you why his wife…ran around?”

Victorine smiled wistfully. “Not for the reason you might think,” she said gently. “Della simply liked men—I think there’s a medical term for that kind of obsession with sex. Cannon’s pride took quite a blow before he finally got tired enough of it to do something decisive.” She studied the younger woman intensely. “Your husband was cruel to you in bed, wasn’t he?” she asked quietly, and sighed. “Oh, my dear, all marriages aren’t like that. You had a bad experience, but I’m afraid you’re letting it ruin the rest of your life. You mustn’t, Margie.” She reached over and touched Margie’s hand lightly. “You’re much too young to stop living.”

Margie’s wide eyes found the older woman’s and all her fears were revealed in them. “The men in my life haven’t been the cream of the crop,” she said quietly. “What I knew of my own father was terribly unpleasant, and my husband was just another disappointment….” She looked up. “I suppose all men aren’t monsters, but how do you tell the good guys from the bad guys before you’ve lived with them?” she murmured wistfully. “I thought Larry was the best in the world. If I couldn’t trust my judgment then, how can I ever trust it again?”

Victorine looked troubled. “You have to learn to trust again,” she said. “I realize that’s easier said than done, but you may find that it comes naturally when you meet the right man.”

The younger woman sighed, finishing her coffee. She smiled shyly. “I’ve never talked to anyone like this. Except possibly Jan.”

“Then I’m flattered. What about your mother?”

“She died when Jan was born. I barely remember her. We were raised by our grandmother McPherson, a fierce old lady who was more interested in discipline than affection.” She sighed, smiling. “We loved her, but we grew up with only each other.”

Victorine was watching her with a strange expression on her face, watchful, calculating. “McPherson?” she murmured.

Margie could have bitten her tongue out. Had Victorine solved the puzzle? Was her identity about to be exposed?

“Is something wrong?” she asked, studying the older woman.

Victorine shrugged. “I keep thinking I’ve heard that name somewhere.” She laughed. “And you looked so familiar…oh, well, I suppose we all have counterparts, don’t we?”

“Yes, I suppose we do,” came the relieved reply.

“I like your sister,” Victorine said quietly. “I like the way my youngest acts around her. So protective and capable—so different from my old Andy, who was forever hoping for Cannon’s approval. He’s changing right before my eyes.”

“Jan loves him very much,” Margie remarked. “She’s happy in a way she’s never been. Poor little Jan. She was always on the receiving end of Larry’s temper, but she had to stay with us because she had no place else to go. Now that Andy’s come into her life, she smiles and plays…I thought she’d forgotten how.”

The older woman looked thoughtful. “Doesn’t that apply to you, too?” she asked gently. “I hear that typewriter all hours of the day. Are you another of those frustrated would-be novelists, Margie, out to write the Great American Novel? Come on, ’fess up. Are you?”

Margie burst into gales of laughter. “All right, yes, I am.”

“I knew it! What kind of books do you try to write—those delicious mystery novels?”

“Yes,” Margie lied, “however did you guess?”

The older woman laughed. “I don’t know, it just popped into my mind. Now, personally, I like those huge sexy historical novels. I read them by the dozen.” Her eyes were speculative as she studied Margie’s face. “Do you read those?”

“Oh no, they’re much too suggestive for my taste,” Margie lied again and prayed silently for forgiveness.

“I see.” Victorine lowered her eyes to her coffee, but there was a strange, tiny little smile on her mouth.

“Cannon doesn’t want Jan and Andy to marry,” Margie said, missing that giveaway smile.

“Yes, I know.” Victorine finished her coffee. “But he’ll get over it. All he needs is to be around Jan for awhile, see her with Andy and get to know her. He’s simply against marriage. He’s very protective of Andy and he doesn’t want him to make a mistake. Cannon’s marriage made him bitter—very much as yours made you bitter, I imagine. But he’ll come around.”

Margie sighed. “Oh, I hope you’re right. I do hope you are.”

* * *

Margie had hoped that she could stay in her room that night to escape the guests who were coming to see Cannon—as well as to avoid the man himself. She didn’t want another confrontation with him until she sorted her feelings out. But Victorine wouldn’t hear of it.

“You most certainly will not hide in your room,” the older woman said, her small figure drawn up to its full height.

“Oh, it wouldn’t be hiding,” Margie promised. “I’d just sort of hibernate for the night and hoard my strength for tomorrow.”

“No,” Victorine said firmly. “And wear something shocking,” she added with a grin. “So will I. We’ll show him!”

Margie burst out laughing. “You’ll be the greatest mother-in-law….”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to apply for the position of daughter-in-law?” Victorine asked hopefully.

“Andy wants Jan.”

“You know very well I didn’t mean Andy.” She cocked her head in the same way Cal did. “He wants you, you know. It’s written all over him.”

Margie’s eyes fell. “I don’t want that kind of involvement. I’m afraid.”

“So is he,” she replied, and smiled at Margie’s incredulous expression. “It’s true. Della soured him. He’s made sure that his women friends are very sophisticated and freedom loving—and that their idea of commitment is a hotel room rented for one night,” she added wickedly.

“Which is about all he wants with me,” Margie said quietly.

“Are you very sure of that?” Victorine asked. “You might be surprised, my dear. Now hurry and dress. And don’t forget—shocking apparel!”

But as it was, Margie was out of shocking clothes, having left all her daring gowns back in Georgia. Instead, she followed her mood and chose a gauzy Victorian-style dress with a high collar and a lacy insert above the ruffled bodice, and a flaring skirt boasting a ruffle around the bottom. With it, she put on lace-up high heels that flattered her small feet. She piled her dark hair into a high coiffure and used the lightest touch of makeup. The rest was sheer elegance, an illusion of old-fashioned delicacy that suited her slender figure and matched her reserved mood.

She went downstairs alone, meeting Victorine and Jan at the bottom of the stairs.

“This is shocking?” the older woman asked, shifting to emphasize her deeply plunging, plum velvet gown as she glared at Margie’s outfit.

“It shows my ankles,” Margie explained, nodding toward them. “At the turn of the century, that was quite shocking.”

Victorine laughed delightedly. “So it was.”

Margie studied Jan, delightful in the silky pale yellow gown that clung to the soft lines of her figure.

“You look like a tea rose,” she told her younger sister.

“Doesn’t she, though?” Victorine agreed, surveying her. “Superb taste in clothes, my dear. It will matter, one of these days.”

Jan colored prettily and smiled. “I didn’t want to embarrass Andy by coming down in something flamboyant.”

“What’s this?” Andy asked, moving toward them in his elegant evening clothes. “Embarrass me? Like fun.”

Jan laughed delightedly, running to him. “Do I look all right?” she asked, wanting his approval.

“Good enough to eat,” he murmured, bending to brush a kiss across her forehead.

“Could you save that for the bedroom?” Cannon growled, joining them, his eyes intimidating as they met his brother’s. “I can’t walk through the house without finding you two in a clinch somewhere.”

“Don’t look, if it bothers you, brother dear,” Andy said with a sudden, uncharacteristic show of spirit. Then he smiled coolly. “And for your information, Jan and I aren’t sharing a bedroom. There’ll be plenty of time for that—after we marry.”

“Without my approval?” Cannon asked insolently.

Andy straightened, drawing Jan closer. “If we have to, yes. Take a look, Cal. I’m all grown up now. I’m not the high school kid who used to worship at the altar of your machismo. And whether you believe it or not, I’m quite capable of supporting Jan and myself.”

“Working at what, exactly?” Cannon asked.

Andy shifted. “At the mill, of course.”

“Think again,” Cannon replied, his eyes glittering with triumph. “If you marry without my consent, you’ll start from scratch and without a penny.”

“Cannon…!” Victorine began.

“The trust is set up so that I have full control over your purse strings until you attain the ripe old age of thirty,” Cannon added, ramming a hand in his pocket to draw out his cigarette case. “And there’s no question about my authority to hire and fire as I please. So don’t throw your weight around with me, boy. It will get you exactly nowhere.”

“If you’ll excuse us,” Andy said quietly to Victorine and Margie, “I think we’ll spend the evening in town.”

Jan looked close to tears, and Margie’s heart went out to her. Damn Cannon! As she was thinking it, her eyes were telling him how she felt. But he didn’t even flinch.

“I’m so sorry we have guests coming,” Victorine told her eldest son with blazing eyes and a cold smile. “I’d love to discuss that little speech with you, dear boy.”

He smiled in amusement at his mother’s bridled fury. “No doubt you would, Mother dear. But despite the pressure from you and Andy, I’m not budging one inch until I’m convinced that he isn’t making a mistake in his choice.”