Lacy (21 page)

Even as he tried to decide, there was a
perfunctory knock on the door and Ben flew into the room. He looked dusty and
disheveled, and his eyes were wide with worry.

"Cole, I've got to talk to you!" he
said urgently. "Sorry, Lacy. But this won't wait. Cole, please, now!"

Lacy got up, her face hidden, letting Cole rise.
He glanced at her, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. He went out with Ben,
closing the door behind them.

"Well, what is it?" Cole asked. He
knew it couldn't be about Marion, because he hadn't told the boy yet.

"Faye called me," Ben muttered.
"She tracked me down in San Antonio and swears she's pregnant and it's
mine. My God, Cole. I'm engaged to be married! I haven't got time for this
mess!"

"You had time to sleep with Faye and get
her pregnant," Cole accused coldly. "You dishonored her. Shamed her.
Ira came to see me today, talking wild."

"I never meant to let things go so
far," Ben groaned. "I was drinking, and she was so willing, so sweet.
I couldn't stop. I've stayed away since then. It's been over three months since
I was with her. And I know it can't be mine—if she's even pregnant."

"How do you know?" Cole asked curtly.

"Because I wanted her, really bad, a few
days later, and she said she couldn't because it was the wrong time of the
month," Ben told him. "So it can't be mine."

Cole had worked with cattle breeding more than
long enough to know about cycles, menstruation, and ovulation. He nodded. There
were exceptions, of course, but it was unlikely that Faye would be pregnant if
she was telling Ben the truth months ago.

"What am I going to do? I can't let Jessica
find out about her," Ben wailed. "She might break the engagement, and
then where would I be? Her father would probably fire me!"

"You aren't marrying the girl because of
your job?" Cole asked warily.

"I'm marrying her because she'd good in
bed, rich, and has all the right connections," Ben said shortly. "Why
not? I'm tired of being poor!"

Cole was disgusted, and it showed. "Money
won't buy you everything, and living off a woman is shoddy."

"You ought to know." Ben shot back,
irritated by Cole's disapproval.

"What do you mean?" the older man
demanded.

"You've been living off Lacy for years. Or
didn't you know that all these modern conveniences are things she paid
for?" Ben scoffed. "She even paid off the second mortgage on the
ranch so it wouldn't be repossessed while you were in France. Things got hard; Lacy saved us."

"Why wasn't I told?" Cole asked, his
face white.

"You didn't ask," Ben said uneasily.
He didn't like the way his big brother looked. "Why isn't Mother still
up?"

Cole had never felt so cruel in his life. Lacy
had supported him, and he hadn't known. Damn Ben for making him feel like a
fool!

"Mother has heart dropsy," he told
Ben, putting the knife in without a scrap of conscience. "The doctor says
she's dying."

Cole turned and left Ben standing there, his
eyes bulging in a white face, while he went back into the bedroom and closed
the door—and he wasn't sorry. Damn Ben! He wasn't sorry at all that he'd done
it!

Lacy was sitting by the fire, her face drawn and
quiet. She looked up expectantly. "Cole—" she began softly.

"You've been pouring money into the house
and the ranch," he accused coldly. "Why keep it from me?"

Her face gave away her guilt. "Because I
knew you'd be furious," she said simply. "I had it, the ranch needed
it..."

"You'll get it back," he said shortly.
"Every penny."

"Do we have to talk about that
tonight?"

"No." He went to the wardrobe and
pulled out his pajamas and robe. He turned back to her with cold eyes in a hard
face. "I'm going to sleep in the guest room from now on. If you don't like
it, go back to San Antonio. Go to hell for all I care."

Lacy couldn't believe what he was saying. She
stood up. "Cole, please don't do this; don't be like this. Times were so
hard here during the war. You were away... There were bills due, and threatened
foreclosure... I had the money, and more. You couldn't have expected me to let
you lose Spanish Flats!"

"I won't take money from a woman," he
said, with furious pride.

"Cole, please listen!" she pleaded.

"Good night, Lacy." He went out,
slamming the door behind him.

Lacy sank down into her chair, a dull throb at
her temples. She might have guessed that his icy pride would defeat her once he
found out about her financial support of his family. She'd hit him in his most
vulnerable spot. He wouldn't forget or forgive. Now they were right back where
they'd began, and if Cole's expression had been any indication, they were going
to stay there for a long time. She'd wanted to tell him that she was sorry they
couldn't have a child together, but that it didn't matter. His scars didn't
matter. She loved him; she wanted to live with him, no matter what. But he was
in no listening mood. She closed her eyes and leaned back in the rocker. Should
she go back to San Antonio? She remembered all too well what it had been like
just after she and Cole had married. He'd frozen her with every glance, every
word.

She knew she couldn't bear that indifference and
anger anymore. But how could she leave Marion?

She couldn't, she decided finally, she'd have to
stick it out—at least until after they gave Ben his engagement party. She'd
make decisions as she had to. Right now, she just wanted to go to bed. This had
been one of the worst days of her life. First Marion, now Cole. Ben had told
him, of course. Her eyes flashed. No matter what it took, little Bennett was
going to get his ears burned tomorrow. She could have cheerfully taken a buggy
whip to the spoiled little boy.

She didn't know that Ben was already being taken
to task for his indiscretion. He'd gone to bed in his old room, and tears had
filled his eyes when there was no one to see. He'd never imagined that his
mother could die. Cole had no right to throw it at him like that. He hadn't
meant to spill the beans about Lacy's financial support. It was just that
Cole's old-fashioned righteousness rubbed him raw sometimes. He was old enough
to marry and live as he pleased, and Cole could like it or lump it.

He felt sick as he thought about losing his
mother. Now Faye was even threatening his future, phoning him, crying about
being pregnant. He'd have to sort her out before he left again, that was for
sure. She couldn't be allowed to go around telling lies about him. Suddenly
life was just too complex for words, he thought miserably!

IN
CHICAGO
,
KATY HAD
settled into a dismal routine of sorts, being
Danny's wife in public and his own whipping boy in private. His mother
complained and nagged all day long, and when Danny was home, he took over.
Nothing Katy did was right. He didn't even want her in bed anymore, and they'd
only been married a few weeks.

"You're not the girl I thought I was
bringing home," he said, with faint contempt, one evening as they arrived
at a local speakeasy where Danny was to have a business meeting with local gang
lord Blake Wardell. "You don't smile, you don't bubble. You just sit and
glower. Mama's disappointed."

"So am I," Katy said dully. "I
should have stayed in Texas."

"You'll have your uses, baby doll," he
said mysteriously. "Never let it be said that I wasted an
opportunity." His eyes approved of the tasseled gown she was wearing; but
then he looked at the feathered headband around her upswept dark hair.
"You ought to cut that hair. You look odd."

Everyone else seemed to have the popular bob,
but Katy didn't like it. She enjoyed long hair. If it defied convention, so
much the better. Life with Danny was hell. Even pining over Turk back at
Spanish Flats seemed better than this walking death. She was property—like one
of Danny's cars—and she wondered now if he'd even cared about her in the
beginning. If he had, Mama Marlone had certainly put paid to that. She did
everything she could to turn Danny against Katy. He wouldn't have brought her
here tonight if he hadn't wanted to put up a good front for a prospective
business partner.

Blake Wardell was a big, dark man with eyes that
were kind despite his reputation as one of the biggest gangsters in Chicago. He was a gambler by trade, and he ran casinos all over the country. Danny wanted
to get in on the action.

Katy was drawn to the big man. Something about
him reminded her of Turk. Perhaps it was his size, or the way he smiled, or the
soft darkness of his eyes when he looked at her. Katy could look at him and
remember, so well, that last day with Turk. She had no regrets at all about
what had happened, not one. She knew, was almost certain, that she was
pregnant. She knew, too, that the child was Turk's and not Danny's. A baby would
give her one sweet part of Turk to treasure during her hellish marriage, and
Danny wouldn't know.

But she did want, so desperately, to tell Turk.
He was her life, but he didn't want her. He'd said so. He'd let her go—without
a single attempt to stop her, to ask her to stay. He didn't want her, and she
was just going to have to accept that. Her life was here now, in a world she'd
never known existed until she came to Chicago.

The mobsters fascinated her. They didn't have
two heads or carry guns in their teeth at all. They were ordinary men, nothing
spectacular. They just made their living outside the law, and seemed to think
nothing of talking about the way they did it. Katy had heard some hair-raising
stories of gang killings and extortion. Danny had friends who had actually
murdered people. Katy took it all in with fearful awe, even as she wondered
what her poor mother and Lacy would think if they could see her now. Thank God
Cole couldn't, she affirmed silently, or he'd have been on the next train with
a gun packed in his valise. His only communication with her since her marriage
had been a terse letter of congratulation. She knew he disapproved of Danny. He
didn't know about what had happened between Turk and herself, and she could at
least spare him the destruction of his friendship with Turk. It didn't matter,
when she and Turk would probably never even see each other again as long as
they lived. If only it wasn't so difficult living with Danny. Just lately, his
behavior had begun to change. He was frequently wild and violent, and Katy was
becoming very afraid of him. He'd already hit her once...

"You're very solemn, Mrs. Marlone,"
Blake Wardell said quietly, smoke wafting from a big cigar in his left hand.
There was a ruby ring on his little finger, but he wore no other jewelry.

Katy looked at him with subdued interest. He had
thick eyebrows and a big, imposing nose. Under it was a wide, hard-lipped mouth
and a square jaw. Chiseled granite would have been a perfect description of the
contours of his broad face. But his deep-set eyes were its saving grace. They
were dark and alive, eyes that could say more than words. He smiled at her and
they warmed, like dark flames.

"Katy doesn't say much these days,"
Danny said sarcastically. "She doesn't do much, either. She's kind of like
a figurehead. She decorates the place."

"Danny, please," Katy said, wincing.

"She certainly is decorative," Blake
replied, with gallantry. "How can you risk showing her off to other
men?" he asked Danny.

The question stopped Danny's cold glare short.
He eyed Blake with sudden interest.

Danny wanted a cut of Wardell's operation and he
didn't have enough capital to buy it. But Wardell certainly seemed fascinated
by Katy. His expression told Danny that he found Katy not only attractive, but
desirable. Well, well. Danny knew what a cold little fish she was, but Wardell
didn't. This unexpected development might work to his advantage.

"Why don't you dance with Blake,
Katy?" Danny suggested. "She's a good dancer," he told the older
man.

The music playing was a Charleston, and Katy
hesitated. Rebellion was one thing, but she felt suddenly conspicuous. "I
don't know if I should..." Katy began.

Danny's whole expression became threatening, and
Katy noticed it with subdued fear. "Don't be such a goose," Danny
muttered. "Go on, Katy. Dance with the nice man."

That was a threat. She didn't protest again.

Wardell laughed softly, thinking she was
embarrassed at being asked to do the dance in public. The Charleston was
actually considered quite decadent by a certain segment of the population who
thought it signaled the rot of society. The same people had tried to ban jazz
as a detriment to morality.