Shades of Twilight (26 page)

Lucinda squared her shoulders as if settling an old burden, one she had become so used to that she seldom noticed it now. “When she found Jessie and screamed, we all went running into the bedroom and found her standing over the body. Gloria jumped to the conclusion that Roanna had killed Jessie, and that's what she and Harlan told the sheriff. Booley had a deputy guarding her while he checked it out. We were all on one side of the room, and Roanna was on the other, all by herself except for the deputy. I'll never forget the way she looked at us, as if we had walked up and stabbed her. I should have gone to her, the way I should have gone to you, but I didn't. She hasn't called me Grandmother since,” Lucinda said softly. “I can't reach her. She goes through the motions, but she doesn't even care about Davencourt. When I told her I was going to change my will to benefit you, if she could get you to come home, she didn't even blink. I wanted her to argue, to get angry, to
care
, but she doesn't.” The incomprehensibility of
it rang in Lucinda's voice, for how could anyone not care about her beloved Davencourt?

Then she sighed. “Do you remember how she was always like a windup toy that never wound down? Running up and down the stairs, banging doors, yelling … I swear, she had no sense of decorum at all. Well, now I'd give anything to see her skip, just once. She was always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, and now she hardly talks at all. It's impossible to tell what she's thinking.”

“Does she laugh?” he asked in a rough tone. He missed her laughter, the infectious giggle when she was up to some mischief, the belly laughs when he told her jokes, the joyous chuckle as she watched foals romping in the pastures.

Lucinda's eyes were sad. “No. She almost never smiles, and she doesn't laugh at all. She hasn't laughed in ten years.”

R
oanna glanced at her watch. The county commissioner's meeting was taking longer than usual, and she would have to leave soon or be late for her lunch in Florence. The Davenports had no official authority in county matters, but it was almost traditional that a family representative attend the meetings. Davenport support, or lack of it, often meant life or death to county projects.

When Roanna had first begun attending the meetings in Luanda's stead, she had been largely ignored, or at best treated to a figurative pat on the head. She had merely listened, and reported to Lucinda; to a large degree, that was still what she did. But Lucinda, when she had taken action on the matters that interested her, had made a point of saying, “Roanna thinks” or “Roanna's impression was,” and soon the commissioners had realized that they had better pay attention to the solemn young woman who seldom spoke. Lucinda hadn't lied; Roanna did relay her thoughts and impressions. She had always been observant but so active that she had often missed details, much as a speeder can see a highway sign but pass it too fast to read the message. Now Roanna was still and silent, and her brown eyes roamed from face to face, absorbing nuances of
expression, tones, reactions. All of this went straight back to Lucinda, who then made her decisions based on Roanna's impressions.

Now that Webb had returned, he would be attending the meetings just as he had used to do. This was likely the last time she would be sitting here, listening and assessing, another place where her usefulness was at an end. In some distant part of her psyche she was aware of hurt, and fear, but she refused to allow them to surface.

The meeting was finally dawdling to an end. She checked her watch once again and saw that she had perhaps five minutes before she
had
to leave or be late. Normally she took the time to chat with everyone, but today she had time only for a quick word with the commissioner.

He was coming toward her, a short, stocky, balding man with a deeply lined face. The creases rearranged themselves into a smile as he approached her in her usual position close to the back of the room. “How are you today, Roanna?”

“Fine, thank you, Chet,” Roanna replied, thinking that she might as well tell him about Webb's return. “And you?”

“Can't complain. Well, I could, but my wife tells me no one's interested in listening.” He laughed at his own joke, his eyes twinkling. “And how's Miss Lucinda feeling?”

“Much better, now that Webb's home,” she said calmly.

He gaped at her in astonishment, and for a second, dismay was written plainly on his face. He blurted, “My God, what are ya'll going to do?” before the rest of her statement sank in and he realized that commiseration wasn't appropriate. He turned beet red and started to sputter in his attempt to retrench. “I—ah, that is—”

Roanna lifted her hand to stop his verbal stumbling. “He'll be taking up the reins again, of course,” she said as if Webb's return was the most natural thing in the world. “It will take him a few weeks to review everything, but I'm certain he'll be contacting you soon.”

The commissioner sucked in a deep breath. He looked faintly ill, but he had recovered his composure. “Roanna, I
don't think that's such a good idea. You've been handling things just fine for Miss Lucinda, and folks around here will be more comfortable with you—”

Roanna's eyes were very clear and direct. “Webb is taking over again,” she said softly. “It would distress Lucinda if anyone chose not to do business with us, but of course that's their choice.”

His windpipe bobbed as he swallowed. Roanna had just made it very plain that anyone who didn't accept Webb would find themselves without Davenport support or patronization. She never got angry, never yelled, never insisted on a point, and seldom even voiced an opinion, but folks in the county had learned not to discount the influence this somber-eyed woman had with Lucinda Davenport. Moreover, most people liked Roanna; it was as simple as that. No one would want an open rift with the Davenports.

“This will probably be the last monthly meeting that I'll attend,” she continued.

“Don't be too sure of that,” a deep, lazy voice said from the doorway just behind her.

Startled, Roanna turned to face Webb as he stepped into the room. “What?” she said. What was he doing here? He hadn't even changed clothes. Had he been so afraid she would mess up something that he'd rushed down to the commissioner's meeting without even taking the time to unpack?

“Hello, Chet,” Webb was saying easily, holding out his hand to the commissioner.

The commissioner's face turned red. He hesitated, then his politician's instincts took over and he shook Webb's hand. “Webb! Speak of the devil! Roanna was just telling me you were back at Davencourt. You're looking good, real good.”

“Thanks. You're looking prosperous yourself.”

Chet patted his belly and gave a hearty laugh. “Too prosperous! Willadean says I'm on a seafood diet—I eat everything I see!”

People milling about in the room had noticed Webb, and
an agitated buzz was growing in volume. Roanna glanced at Webb, and the glint in his green eyes told her that he was well aware of the stir his presence was causing and wasn't the least concerned about it.

“Don't think you're off the hook,” he said to Roanna, turning a smile on her. “Just because I'm home doesn't mean you get to goof off from now on. We'll probably come to the meetings together.”

Despite her shock, Roanna nodded gravely.

Webb looked at his watch. “Don't you have a lunch engagement in Florence? You're going to be late if you don't hurry.”

“I'm on my way. 'Bye, Chet.”

“See you at the next meeting,” the commissioner said, still in that falsely jovial tone as she maneuvered past him and into the hallway.

“I'll walk you to your car.” Webb nodded at the commissioner and turned to fall into step with Roanna.

She was acutely aware of him just at her elbow as they walked down the hall. His tall form easily dominated her even though she was wearing high heels. She didn't know what to think about what had just happened, so she didn't let herself jump to any conclusions. Maybe he truly intended they should work together, maybe he'd just been saying that to smooth the way. Only time would tell, and she wouldn't let herself hope. If she didn't hope, then she couldn't be disappointed.

A wave of double takes followed them down the hall as people recognized Webb and turned to stare. Roanna walked faster, wanting to get out of the building before a confrontation could develop. She reached the end of the hall, and Webb's arm extended in front of her to open the door. She felt the brush of his body against her back.

They exited into the glare and sticky humidity of the hot summer morning. Roanna fished her keys out of purse and slipped her sunglasses on her nose. “What made you come to town?” she asked. “I wasn't expecting you.”

“I figured now was as good a time to break the ice as any.”
His long legs easily kept up with her hurried pace. “Slow down, it's too hot for a race.”

Obediently she slacked her pace. Her car was parked close to the end of a row, and if she hurried all that distance, she would be drenched in sweat by the time she got to it. “Were you serious about the meetings?” she asked.

“Dead serious.” He had put on his own sunglasses, and the dark lenses kept her from reading his expression. “Lucinda has been singing your praises. You already know what's going on, so I'd be a fool if I didn't use you.”

One thing Webb wasn't, particularly where business was concerned, was a fool. Roanna felt a wave of dizziness at the thought of actually working with him. She had been prepared for anything, she'd thought, from being ignored to being evicted, but she hadn't considered that he would want her help.

They reached her car, and Webb plucked the keys from her hand. He unlocked the door and opened it, then handed the keys back. She waited a moment for the wave of pent-up heat in the car to dissipate, then slipped behind the wheel. “Be careful,” he said, and closed the door.

Roanna glanced in the rearview mirror as she pulled out of the parking lot. He was striding back toward the building; perhaps he was parked up that way, or he was going back inside. She let her gaze move hungrily over that wide, muscled back and long legs, just for a second's delight, then she forced her attention back to her driving and merged into traffic.

Webb unlocked his own car and got inside. The impulse that had sent him into town had been a simple one, but strong. He had wanted to see Roanna. That was all, just see her. After the disturbing things Lucinda had told him, the old protective instincts had taken over and he'd wanted to see for himself that she was all right.

She was, of course, more than all right. He had seen for himself how deftly she had handled Chet Forrister, her composure unruffled by the commissioner's opposition—
and on Webb's own behalf. Now he understood exactly what Lucinda had been telling him when she'd said Roanna was stronger, that she'd changed. Roanna no longer needed him to fight her battles.

The realization left him feeling oddly bereft.

He should have been glad, for her sake. The young Roanna had been so painfully vulnerable, an easy target for anyone who wanted to take a verbal potshot at her tender emotions. He had constantly been stepping in to shield her, and his reward had been her unflagging adoration.

Now she had forged her own armor. She was cool and self-contained, almost emotionless, keeping people at a distance so their slings and arrows couldn't reach her. She had paid for that armor with pain and despair, almost with her own life, but the steel was strong. She still suffered, in the form of insomnia and nightmares when she did manage to sleep, but she handled her own problems now.

When he had walked into Davencourt today and seen her standing there on the stairs, wearing that elegantly understated silk dress and creamy pearls, with her dark chestnut hair in a sleek, sophisticated style, he had been rendered almost speechless at the contrast between the rowdy, untidy girl she had been and the classy, classic woman she was now.

She was still Roanna, but she was different. When he looked at her now, he didn't see the urchin with the unruly tongue, the awkward teenager. He looked at her and thought of the slender body beneath the silk dress, the texture of her skin that rivaled the dress in luxurious silkiness, the way her nipples had peaked at his slightest touch during those long hours in the motel in Nogales.

He had covered her naked body with his own, pulled her legs wide open, and taken her virginity. Even now, sitting in the contained, roasting heat of the car, he shivered with the power of the memory. God, he remembered every little detail—how it had felt pushing into her, the hot, soft tightness of her body as he sheathed himself inside her. He remembered how delicate she had felt beneath him, her
smaller body dominated by his size, his weight, his strength. He had wanted to cradle her in his arms, protect her, soothe her, pleasure her—everything but stop. There was no way he could have stopped.

Those memories had been driving him crazy for the past ten days, depriving him of sleep, interrupting his work. When he'd seen her again today, he had been shaken by a wave of pure possessiveness. She was his. She was his, and he wanted her. He wanted her so much that his hands had started shaking. It had taken all of his self-control not to climb the stairs to where she stood, take her arm, and march her the rest of the way upstairs to one of the bedrooms, any bedroom, where he could lift her skirt and bury himself inside her once more.

He had restrained himself for one reason, and one reason only. Roanna had carefully built her inner fortress, but every fortress had a weakness, and he knew exactly what her weakness was.

Him.

She could protect herself against everyone but him.

She hadn't tried to hide it, or deny it. She had told him with devastating honesty that all he had to do was snap his fingers and she would come running. She would have gone up those stairs with him and let him do anything he wanted to her.