Now and Forever

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

T
he sky was a blaze of color above the foaming whitecaps, and only the free cry of gulls broke the watery whisper of the waves that teased the shore. Lutecia Peacock closed her eyes and sat like a slender statue. Her back cold against the strength of the boulder at the water's edge, she sat drinking in the peace and seclusion of sea and sand.

Farther down the beach, Frank Tyler was just coming out of the water, his pale skin gleaming in the bright morning light, his
blond hair made even lighter by the sun. He'd invited her to swim with him, but she didn't like the water anymore, not since last summer. Not since Russell had found her in the beach house and…

She shook away the thought with a toss of her long, wavy black hair and drew her knees up, clasping her hands around her flared denims as Frank drew nearer. She picked up a towel and tossed it to him.

“Thanks,” he laughed, sniffing as he mopped the water from his face and chest. “Whew, I'm tired! Why didn't you come in with me?”

“In these?” she asked, indicating her pale blue T shirt and jeans. Her rain-gray eyes lit up with laughter. “If there are any sharks out there, they'd die laughing. Was it cold?”

“Freezing.” He pulled on a short-sleeved shirt and dropped down on the sand beside her, pushing back his unruly hair. “Having fun?” he asked with a boyish grin.

“Ummm,” she murmured lazily. “It's been a wonderful week. I'm sorry it has to end.”

He studied her quietly. “I love that Georgia drawl,” he said.

“What does that mean?” she asked, suddenly on the defensive.

“I mean that I like that soft accent. Did I say something insulting?” he asked quickly.

She shook her head. “I'm sorry. I've taken so much ribbing at college—not just about the accent, either. People seem to have the idea that farm girls go barefoot year-round and can't spell cat.”

He caught her cold hand and squeezed it. “You know I wasn't making a dig at you. Besides,” he added with a smile, “your family owns one of the biggest farms in the state. And you're much too cultured to be mistaken for a backwoods hick, darling.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said with a smile. “It has been fun, Frank. I wish I didn't have to go home. If Baker hadn't pressured me so…”

“It's only until Christmas,” he reminded her. “And Belle and I will be down in less than three weeks. We'll be neighbors.”

“Bright Meadows came on the market just at the right time, didn't it?” she laughed. “It'll make a grand vacation home for you. Now, just be sure you take enough vacations….”

He leaned over and brushed her mouth with his. “You can count on it.”

She turned her gaze seaward, enjoying the companionable silence that came between them. The pleasant memories of fun-filled days that finally led to skipping a semester of college to come with Frank, his mother and sister for a late holiday on the Georgia coast came to her. Frank had been so thoughtful, so kind on those dazzling New York City evenings, so gentle, not at all like that dark-eyed savage at Currie Hall….

She flushed with the vivid memory, the consuming embarrassment that had kept her away from the sprawling family farm for a full year, causing her to find excuse after excuse to avoid going home on holidays.

Russell hadn't seemed to notice or care about her conspicuous absence or about the fact that she pointedly ignored making any reference to him in her infrequent letters and phone calls. But, then, nothing affected him. Nothing but the land that was his life, his passion. Always and forever, there was the land. She used to watch him, standing like some dark god in a Greek myth, gazing out over the curves of a mistress turned to sandy
loam by an evil spell. It was something she couldn't understand because she hated the fertile black soil that had taken her parents.

Her eyes misted at the memory. She'd been the type of child that Frank Tyler and his kind wouldn't have noticed without a grimace of distaste. She'd been dirty, dressed in faded, worn cotton frocks; she'd always gone barefoot, with her hair constantly in tangles despite her frail mother's best efforts. And her language had been enough to raise even Russell's eyebrows. By the time she was eight, that horrible year when her father died because of a field hand's carelessness and her mother succumbed to pneumonia complicated by heartbreak, she was fire-tempered and a step short of illiterate.

Russell Currie had taken that belligerent little ragamuffin in his big, hard arms and carried her up to the big house, mastering her struggles effortlessly as she cursed him and kicked. He'd made Mattie open a room for her and dared his father and stepmother to say a word about the decision.

“She belongs to me,” he told Baker and Mindy, with fiery determination in his dark,
dark eyes. “I promised her mother on her deathbed that I'd take her and, by God, I'll make a lady out of her if it kills us both!”

It hadn't been easy, she admitted ruefully. But Baker and Mindy had accepted her with open arms, and even baby Eileen had taken to her like a playful kitten. With Russell, it was another matter. He was a hard taskmaster, and she wore out her rebellion against the stone wall of his will. But day by day through careful work and determination, he pushed the circumstances of her father's death to the back of her mind. He bought her clothes, tutored her sharp mind and dulled her sharp tongue, and produced a reasonable facsimile of a lady in only ten short years. And he screamed bloody murder when at eighteen, Baker had taken her side when she fought Russell to go to a northern college. But for once Baker swayed his stubborn son, and Lutecia got her way with Russell—for the first and last time.

There'd been trips home that first year of college. Until last summer, until that day…

She clasped her hands around her knees, resting her stubborn chin on the smooth denim of her flared jeans. Snob? Perhaps
Frank was right. She didn't talk about her childhood, about the way she came to be taken into the wealthy environment of Currie Hall. She couldn't bear remembering. Sometimes she felt very much like the ragged, frightened child she really was beneath her tailored pink cotton blouse and expensive jeans. It was a feeling she disliked. The memory of poverty had never died and she didn't like things that reminded her of it. Things like square dancing and farming, and the land—and Russell. Because he knew better than anybody just how great her climb really was.

“I don't want to go home,” she murmured into her bent knees.

“Why didn't you tell your adopted father that when he called?”

She shrugged. “You know Baker had a heart attack last month,” she reminded him. “Mindy took him off to Miami to get him away from those horrible Appaloosas so that he could recuperate. I couldn't undo all the doctors have done by upsetting him. Anyway, he knows how Russell would handle Eileen without Mindy's influence. I don't have the excuse of going back to school
since I'm registered for next January. And he really sprung it on me before I had time to think.” She sighed angrily. “It was Russell's idea. I know it was!”

Frank laughed softly, shifting to lie back on the sand. “Every time you mention his name your face burns like a beacon. What's he like?”

“Russell?” Her mind fought even the memory of him. “Middle thirties, stubborn and proud, and absolutely ruthless when he wants something. Just ask anyone who has had business dealings with him,” she added bitterly. “Most farmers and ranchers lose money. Russell makes money.”

“Married?” he asked.

“Russell?” she cried incredulously.

Frank shook his head and smiled. “I'm beginning to regret accepting Baker's invitation to stay at your house while they finish the work at Bright Meadows.”

“Don't be silly,” she chided. “It's the middle of harvest, and the Great-White-Rancher will be too busy getting the crops in and buying and selling cattle to be at home much,” she said, adding silently, I
hope! “Besides, you know you and Belle are welcome. Will you come?”

He stared quietly into her wide, drift-wood-gray eyes. “If you really want me to.”

She frowned and laughed all at once. “What kind of question is that? Of course I want you to!”

He leaned closer and brushed her lips with his in the gentle caress that had been the hallmark of their brief relationship. “Then we'll come.”

She turned her eyes toward the beach house in the distance. “Well, I guess it's about time to pack. Are you sure you don't mind driving me to the airport?”

He stood up, pulling her to her feet. “I mind letting you go,” he said, suddenly serious as his eyes met hers.

She laughed self-consciously and slung back her hair. “No fair,” she teased. “We agreed to keep it light, no strings.”

He sighed, and the corners of his lips went up reluctantly. “So you keep reminding me. All right, beautiful, let's go. They'll be waiting breakfast for us and you know how mother hates to wait.”

Amen, she thought as she followed his long strides down the beach. Remembering his flattery, she smiled. Not that she believed it. Her olive complexion and dark, wavy hair were good points she knew. But Lutecia did not realize the full power of her unique beauty. Her jaw had a firm, Scotch-Irish set to it, and her cheekbones were unusually high. Her nose tilted just a bit at its tip, although the full perfection of her mouth offset that impish prank of nature. But it was her figure, she thought—and without conceit—that attracted men. It was full and rounded, and her smooth skin was flawless. She flattered it with low-cut blouses and well-fitting skirts and jeans, dressing with a flair that set her apart.

Frank clasped her hands warmly. “I told you,” he laughed, nodding toward the sprawling beach house ahead.

Belle Tyler was waiting on the porch, her short blond hair wisping in the breeze, her pale blue eyes worried.

“Thank goodness!” she said in a husky, ultra-soft voice. “Mother's been having kittens all over the house, swearing that the
coffee would melt metal from reheating! Where have you been?”

Frank smiled easily at his sister. “On the beach, stoning tourists,” he told her tongue-in-cheek. “Why the worried look?”

“Company's coming,” she returned, studying Lutecia curiously. “You never mentioned that your brother was a pilot.”

Lutecia felt her heart freeze in her breast. “How did you know?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“He called a few minutes ago. He's flying down to pick you up.”

She dropped her eyes to hide the confusion and panic that casual remark caused. “When?”

“He'll be here at ten. He's going to land in Augusta and drive down.” Belle cocked her blond head at the younger girl. “If your brother looks anything like he sounds…Gosh, what a voice, deep and slow and sexy!”

“He's probably overweight and bald,” Frank laughed at the obvious interest in his sister's delicate face. “Just another stuffy, middle-aged bachelor.”

“Is he, Lutecia?” Belle persisted.

“Frank!” Angela Tyler interrupted, sparing her from having to answer. “Frank, come in here and eat before our bacon freezes on the plate!” She stood in the doorway like a slender, ancient statue, her cold blue eyes taking in her son and his slumping companion. “You too, dear,” she said to Lutecia, and her thin lips smiled, but the smile didn't touch her frigid eyes. “You must be hungry after that long walk. Come on, children.”

Belle followed her, but Frank held back, glancing apologetically at Lutecia. “She doesn't mean to be bossy,” he explained. “And when she gets to know you better, she'll warm up.”

Lutecia shuddered inwardly at the thought. Already Angela looked down her nose at Lutecia despite the Currie wealth that seemed to draw her into the older woman's social corridor. Not that Frank's father had been rich; only a natural aptitude for electronics and a little foresight had boosted him up the ladder of social acceptance. And Angela had started out as a typist in a secretarial pool. Of course, that was a family secret, and Angela's acquired poise
and stoic dignity resisted speculation. But the old woman's past wouldn't soften her toward Lutecia if she ever found out the truth.

She followed Frank into the dining room like a sleepwalker, trying not to think about what her reaction would be when Russell walked in that door. A year had passed, but it felt like yesterday. She nibbled at her food, praying that her face wouldn't betray her to Frank and his family. If there had been anywhere she could have run to, any way of avoiding this meeting, she'd have bolted like a nervous filly.

Outside she heard the distant thunder. It was like an omen, and the perfect morning dissolved into rain.