Aly's House (13 page)

He meant only to kiss her fully, then take his leave and be damned to all the Kingstons. But her mouth moved beneath his, and he tasted a seductiveness of flesh that he had never known before. His senses leaped, his arms tightened. He pressed her into him, aching with a new and deeper need than any he had ever felt.

“Aly,” he whispered between a grin and a groan when he'd released her mouth.

“The stick-figure kid herself,” she assured him softly, her mouth moist, her eyes shining.

“No, not any longer.” Tenderly he cradled her face in his hands. Moonlight glimmered in her eyes, glistened off her teeth, flooded her face with an unimaginable beauty. He could have cried from the loss that filled his soul. “You have become irresistible, Aly Kingston. It is possible you could break my heart.”

“Oh, I'd never do that, Marshall Wayne. I would be the best keeper of your heart imaginable.”

He lowered his head to kiss her again before she could see the quick spring of sorrow in his eyes, and Aly kissed him back, her lips unreserved and full of promise.

“Now,” Marshall said afterward, taking a deep breath, “this is my advice to you. I think you'd better let me go, or I won't, if you catch my meaning.”

Aly smiled seductively, keeping her arms around his waist, nuzzling his earlobe. “It was your idea to go in the first place, you may remember.”

“Aly.” Resolutely, Marshall set her from him. Again, the moonlight fell on her face, and his breath caught. He cleared his throat. “About this riding business,” he began. “Don't you find it a little embarrassing that you don't know how to ride?”

“Nobody knows but you and Joe and Willy. I've managed to keep the fact a secret.” Aly yearned to have him stay. Forever and ever.

“Well, look,” he said gruffly, fingertips going back into his pockets, “if you don't have any plans tomorrow night, I'll come out and give you your first lesson. I promised it to you, and I never break my promise.”

The hard fact of his last statement broke the spell between them. For a fraction of a second their glances locked, then Marshall's skewed away. His handsome face closed. Aly suddenly thought of the white Continental. There had not been a rental sticker anywhere on it. He must own the car and had arranged to have it delivered to Oklahoma City. But it didn't matter. So what? Marshall would be back tomorrow night. She had won this first round.

“Will six o'clock be all right with you?” Aly asked. “And how about supper afterward here at the house?”

“Suits me,” he said. He did not touch her again, but opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. At the bottom of the steps he looked back up at her standing in the doorway. “By the way,” he said, “thanks for planting the geraniums.”

“You're welcome, Marshall.”

At his motel, Marshall stepped out onto the veranda of his upper floor room, lighting a fresh cigarette. The burning sensation was back in his chest. Before he got back to the motel, because he would have had to go through a switchboard there, he tried Hattie Handlin's number and received no answer. Claiborne folks, even for a Saturday night, were usually in bed by now. He could only deduce that Hattie was out of town.

Tomorrow he would drive by her house. His presence in the neighborhood would rouse no suspicions. He was merely out on a nostalgic drive through the residential sections of his hometown. Maybe he could find out something. Right now he must try not to worry over something that might have a perfectly harmless explanation. Hattie could have gone to see a sick relative. Rather than trust anyone with a message, she had decided to wait until she got back to get in touch with him, knowing that he would be here for several weeks. After all, there was plenty of time for their transaction.

He drew deeply on the cigarette, staring out toward Cedar Hill. Aly, though, might be a problem he hadn't counted on. He still felt the warm imprint of her body, the responding pressure of her lips. She had felt so good in his arms, and it had been an effort to let her go. The next time he might not be able to.

Aly walked out onto the porch at Cedar Hill, glad of the night wind that blew through her hair, cooling the fever that Marshall had kindled. He was staying in the new motel on the other side of town, he had said. She gazed in its direction, hugging herself to keep the contact of him with her awhile longer. What was the “something else” in his life that he could not share? Could she displace it, she wondered.

Even as she thought it, the light wind ran caressing fingers over her body, reminding her of Marshall. She shuddered deliciously. Well, she certainly intended to try.

M
arshall Wayne credited much of his financial success to the near infallibility of his instincts. The next morning as he drove slowly by Hattie Handlin's trim, modest bungalow, this set of faculties told him that the final phase of his carefully planned scheme was in trouble. Hattie's ancient Chevrolet was in the carport, but the yellowing newspapers in the front yard indicated that she had not been home for several days. Where the hell had the woman gone to?

She was to have been waiting for him on Friday to sell him her shares in the Kingston State Bank, a purchase that would put him in control of fifty-one percent of the stock. Even more important was the proxy letter she had agreed to give him authorizing him to vote her shares in the stockholders' meeting next week. For though he would own the stock, his name would not be on the current list of stockholders eligible to cast a ballot in the reelection of the board of directors. The list was compiled twenty days in advance of the meeting. Those not on the list would have to wait until next year to vote. Marshall had no intention of waiting. He had come to depose Lorne Kingston this year.

But he had to have that letter. Surely Hattie hadn't changed her mind or been approached by Lorne Kingston with a better offer? Alarm shot through him at the possibility, quickly discarded. The old reprobate couldn't possibly know of his intent, and Hattie Handlin hated Kingston as much as he did. She was still smarting from the snub given her nephew by Victoria years ago. Little old ladies like Hattie did not forgive arrogant young ladies like Victoria easily. Also, shortly after Hattie was widowed, Lorne Kingston had approached her about investing her insurance money in something guaranteed to provide her with a financially secure old age: Kingston State Bank stock. He had even offered to sell her some of his own personal shares. The rest of the story was history. “It'll be a pleasure to let you have the shares, Marshall.” Hattie had smacked with malice over the phone when he had called with his offer. “I figure I know why you want 'em, and I'm countin' on you to put a certain Mr. Big Shot in his place. You just give me a call when you get into town. I'll be waiting.”

Marshall wondered if Hattie had told Joe about their negotiations. She had promised not to. He wanted no one at this point to know about his purchase of the shares. By not buying them until after the twenty-day period, his name would not appear on the stockholders list. As far as anybody knew, Marshall Wayne did not own or control a single share. By the time he showed his hand, it would be too late for Lorne Kingston to stop him.

But also, Marshall had to admit, part of his pleasure in dethroning Kingston and ruining his son's expectations of being named president and chairman when his father retired next month was the surprise he anticipated seeing on their faces when he walked into that meeting and presented Hattie's letter. By then the proxy ballots of the forty-one percent of the shares he controlled would have been counted and their negative results known. All would have registered against retaining the current board. He relished the mental picture of the shocked reactions when the Kingstons and the board realized they were out. In the general business meeting following, he, as majority stockholder, would then nominate a new board, men he knew would agree to serve, and they in turn would elect him president and chairman. God, what a sweet victory! But he had to have that letter.

Coming up the street was a white pickup. As the two vehicles drew abreast, Marshall stiffened as he saw the logo of Green Meadows on the door, then looked up at the face of the driver. Joe Handlin's green eyes widened in recognition, and he motioned Marshall to pull over. The pickup backed up alongside the Lincoln, and Joe rolled his window down. “Well, hello there, Marshall,” he said. “I heard you were back in town. What are you doing in this neighborhood? Anything I can help you with?”

Marshall listened for anything in the tone or words to indicate that Joe knew the answer to that question. “Just driving around town,” he answered. “It doesn't seem to have changed much. Your aunt still live on this block?”

“Yeah. She's been wanting to move to an apartment, someplace smaller, ever since Uncle Rupert died. Wants me to rent the place from her, but I can't do that. I live out close to Green Meadows so I can be near Aly if she needs me.” This last information was dropped pointedly, in a way that made Marshall think it was for his benefit. He filed it away for later.

“How is your aunt, by the way? She must be nearing seventy by now.”

“Not so good, I'm afraid. She had a severe heart attack last week and has been in intensive care at the hospital ever since. I've come by this morning to pick up her mail and the newspapers in the yard. Open invitation to burglars.”

Marshall kept his expression of polite concern and interest firmly in place. “I'm sorry to hear that,” he said. “What are her chances of making it?”

“Pretty slim. I've been trying to get used to the idea. She and Uncle Rupert raised me when my folks died, you remember.”

“I remember. I'm sorry, Joe.”

The two men drove off with a wave, but green eyes and brown ones surveyed each other in sideview mirrors. As classmates, the two men had never been particularly friendly, but they had respected each other. Joe had his cap set for Aly, Marshall surmised, and the man saw him as a threat to his hopes. He would concern himself about that later. Right now he had to concentrate on what he would do if Hattie Handlin died before he got his hands on her proxy letter.

“That doesn't look suitable for riding,” Marshall said, appraising the dusky blue blouse and skirt Aly was wearing. She stood framed in the doorway of her house, the subdued light of the breezeway glowing softly on her hair. “You're not trying to get out of that riding lesson, are you?”

“Not at all, Marshall.” Actually, until the phone call from Joe, she had thought of nothing else all day unless it was the meal she had painstakingly prepared. “I'm sorry, but our plans have changed,” she explained. “I tried to get you at the motel, but you were out. My stable manager's aunt is at the hospital near death. I thought I ought to be with him right now. Willy is there, too.”

Aly saw something like a shock wave pass over the well-cut features. Now that she looked at Marshall closer, she thought she detected signs of strain about his eyes. Had he been battling with himself about coming here this evening? “Do you mind if I come with you?” Marshall asked. “I remember Joe Handlin.”

“I was hoping you would want to.” She smiled. “Come in while I get my jacket.”

At the hospital they found Joe and Willy in the waiting room reserved for the family of patients in the intensive care unit. Joe's face fell visibly when he saw Marshall, and he took Aly's hands possessively, pulling her aside for a private conference. “Thanks for coming, hon. I don't think Aunt Hattie can last much longer.” He cast a glance at Marshall. “I appreciate you bringing Aly out, Marshall. I'll see that she gets home.”

“Aly and I had a date tonight. I'll see that she gets home,” Marshall stated quietly.

Willy moved into the tense moment with a placid comment that prevented the discussion from getting out of hand. Soon Hattie's family began to arrive from neighboring counties. “See the vultures gathering,” Joe remarked uncharitably, sighting the first group coming down the hall. “They all think Aunt Hattie remembered them in her will, but I know she didn't. She left everything to me.” He looked directly at Marshall as he spoke. “Everything. The house, some bonds, a few shares of stock…I think I'll hold on to the stock. I see no reason to sell it. No reason at all.”

Aly looked from one to the other, reading a secret communication between the two men, sensing their hostility. Why was Joe discussing Hattie's will almost within earshot of her deathbed? Joe adored his aunt and would have been satisfied with just the memory of the love and attention she'd showered on him through the years. She saw Marshall's jaw go rigid. “One thing about stock,” he said. “If you hold it too long, the price could go down.”

“Sometimes their value isn't counted in dollars.”

The arrival of Joe's relatives prevented further discussion. As greetings and news of Hattie's condition were exchanged, Marshall gripped Aly's arm. “Let's get out of here as soon as we can,” he ordered in a low tone.

“I can't, Marshall. Joe needs me.”

“I need you more. He has his family.”

Hattie died an hour later, and soon after the news came Marshall shepherded Aly out of the hospital. “You're upset,” she declared, “and it isn't because of Hattie's death. What's the matter, Marshall? What was going on back there between you and Joe?”

“Nothing. The guy's in love with you. He thinks I'm here to shoot him out of the saddle.”

Don't I wish
, she threw back mentally, but asked, “What's that got to do with stocks?”

“Oh, that was just a play on words between us men, honey. Didn't mean a thing. Where can we go for a bite to eat?”

“Back to the house,” she said, disarmed by the endearment and remembering his statement to her back at the hospital.
I need you more.
That had a nice ring to it. “I have supper ready to pop into the oven,” she said. “Fricasseed chicken. Hattie would want us to enjoy it.”

Marshall dragged his eyes away from the road where they had been focused in severe thought. The distracted smile he gave her did little to convince Aly of his interest in the meal. “Fricasseed chicken, huh? With rice?”

“And apple salad and pecan pie for dessert.”

“Sounds like one of Mother's meals.”

“It should. She taught me all I know about cooking—the recipes are hers.”

“Great!” he said with a heartiness that did not quite ring true. Aly observed him out of the corner of her eye. What was happening here all of a sudden? What had that exchange been about back at the hospital? She guessed she'd just get Joe to tell her.

In the parlor, while Aly put the finishing touches on their meal, Marshall roamed about like a caged animal, stopping every now and then to draw on the cigarette that he had lighted without thinking. How in hell could he rectify this unforeseen set of events? Why hadn't he thought of this possibility earlier and bought Hattie's stock sooner? The voice of logic reminded him that to have done so might have tipped his hand to Lorne, who could have exercised any number of options to block the takeover. Calmly he considered the facts. Joe Handlin knew about his arrangement to buy Hattie's stock, that was certain. What else did he know or guess? How much had Hattie told him? Marshall conjectured that the attack may have hit her before the proxy letter had been written. Realizing she could be dying, she had told Joe about the shares, possibly instructed him to sell as agreed. But Joe had no intention of selling him those shares now, and if they were sold to Lorne Kingston, who might very well make Joe an offer now that Hattie was dead, then the dream to remove Kingston and take over the bank was finished. Unless he could get his hands on another ten percent, his shrewd accumulation of the stock would be worthless, and a costly, all-consuming ambition that had been the purpose of his life for thirteen years would be down the drain. But where was he to get it?

“Marshall?” Aly called from the doorway between the parlor and dining room. “Supper's on the table.”

He turned to her slowly, fixing her with a gaze dark and considering. Aly marked the cigarette, the odd expression, the aloofness of his manner with a chill of apprehension along her spine. “Marshall?” she asked quizzically, in the tone of one identifying a stranger.

He blinked, then smiled, connecting them again. He noticed the cigarette. “Sorry,” he said, stubbing it out in the one ashtray in the parlor. “I have the feeling you don't approve of these.”

“You didn't either before.”

“That was before.”

They had just sat down at the table when the doorbell rang.

“Who the hell is that?” Marshall demanded with unwonted feeling.

“I'll go see.”

It was Joe. Through the oval glass, Aly could see him standing impatiently under the illumination of the porch light, casting malevolent glances at the Lincoln Continental. His eyes looked red-rimmed and swollen.

“Hello, Aly,” he said when she opened the door. “I'm glad to see you're still up and dressed.” He pushed back his cap nervously.

“Why shouldn't I be, Joe?” she said. “It's only eight-thirty.”

“Marshall here?”

“Yes.”

“Can I talk to you?”

“Certainly. Come in.”

“No. I mean out here.”

“Joe,” Aly tried to keep her voice gentle, but what was he doing here? He ought to be in church or with his relatives or seeing to funeral arrangements—anywhere but here, keeping a birdwatch on her and Marshall at such a time. “Anything you want to say to me can be said inside. Marshall is my guest. It's rude to talk out here.”

“It's about Marshall that I've come.”

Aly pulled the door shut behind her. “What about him?”

“He's up to something, Aly. I'm not exactly sure what, but it has to do with Aunt Hattie's Kingston State Bank stock. He came here to buy it. She told me so herself just before the ambulance came to take her to the hospital.”

Aly received this information calmly, though its impact was like a blow to her stomach. “So?” she said, keeping her tone mild. “What has that got to do with me?”

Alarmed at her attitude, Joe struggled to keep his voice down. “Well, doesn't that bother you, Aly? Doesn't that tell you something? I figure Marshall wants that stock in order to gain control of your father's bank somehow.”

Aly's mind was working fast, adding up certain expressions, comments, feelings, facts noted and learned in the last few days. The sum appalled her only a little less than her own stupidity. So Marshall had not come to buy Cedar Hill. He had come for Hattie's stocks. She should have realized that fact when they were mentioned at the hospital. Their loss explained the look that had been on Marshall's face, his distraction during the drive home. It explained that strange expression he had turned to her when she called him in to supper. Dear God! Now that Hattie's stock had fallen through the crack, did that mean he intended to come after hers?