Southern Comforts (27 page)

Deidre opened her mouth. On a roll, Chelsea held up a hand to stop any interruption. “I'm damn proud of my father. I'm equally proud of what I do. And you're not going to make me feel guilty any more trying to live up to your outdated, impossible standards.”

“Since when are good manners outdated?” Deidre asked coolly.

“We're not talking manners here, Mother.” Chelsea leaned down until they were face-to-face. “We're talking control. And you've just lost it.”

As if just remembering his presence, Deidre glanced over at Cash, who'd gone to stand at the window across the room. “Would you mind, Mr. Beaudine, if I had a few minutes alone with my daughter?”

Chelsea looked capable of handling her mother. Hell, right now she looked capable of handling an entire cast of bad guys from a Sylvester Stallone action film, single-handedly. But he knew, all too well, that appearances could often be deceiving. And the one thing he didn't want to do was desert her the way her Yankee worm had done.

“Chelsea?”

The knowledge that he was offering to stay, to protect her from her mother's icy wrath, gave Chelsea the strength she needed to turn him down.

“It's all right, Cash. This won't take long.”

He glanced from Chelsea, to Deidre, then back to Chelsea. “If you're sure.”

“Positive.” Chelsea crossed the room, placed both hands on his shoulders, went up on her toes and kissed him. A short, but heartfelt kiss rife with emotion. “But thank you for asking,” she whispered.

“Anytime.” He skimmed a finger down her crooked nose. “I'll be in the next room. Holler if you need me.”

She smiled at that. “Don't tempt me,” she said in a low voice designed to keep her mother from hearing.

Cash went to leave the room, stopping at the bedroom door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Lowell.”

“I enjoyed meeting you as well, Mr. Beaudine,” Deidre replied stiffly, obviously lying through her teeth. “Perhaps we'll meet again someday.”

“Oh, you can definitely count on that.” The smile he flashed at the older woman was as sexy as hell and filled with good-natured humor. Then he disappeared into the bedroom, leaving mother and daughter alone.

M
omentarily struck by the force of that woman-killer smile, Deidre stared at the closed bedroom door for a long moment. “Well. So that's the man you've left Nelson for.”

“I'm not going to talk about Nelson.”

“He's your fiancé.”

“Not any longer. In fact, if I never see him again, it'll be too soon.”

Deidre sighed. “I don't want to argue with you, Chelsea.”

“Fine.” Chelsea folded her arms across the front of her flowered dress. “Then don't try to take the worm's side.”

“That's a horrible thing to call your fiancé.”

“I told you, he's
not
my fiancé. And believe me, Mother, worm is definitely one of the more acceptable words that come to mind. After what he did.”

“If you're talking about his little mistake with Heather Van Pelt—”

“His little mistake?” Chelsea's voice went up a full octave. “He was fucking her brains out, Mother. In my bed. In Grandmother Lowell's bed.”

“Really, Chelsea.” Deidre's lips pulled into a tight, disapproving line. “Must you use such language?”

Chelsea couldn't believe her mother's priorities. On second thought, she could. She felt the fury leaving her, like helium from a brightly colored balloon.

“I see.” She sat down on a chair facing the sofa. “It's all right for Nelson to
do
the F-word with my assistant. It's just taboo for me to say it.”

“Nelson is a man. With a man's weaknesses.”

“Believe me, Mother. I'm well aware of all his weaknesses. Including the one he was sticking into Heather.”

Deidre recrossed her legs with an irritated swish. “You're being purposefully difficult. As always. I don't know why I bother to try to talk with you.”

“Quite honestly, I've often wondered the same thing myself.”

A frustrated silence fell over mother and daughter. Then Deidre tried again.

“You say you admire your father. Surely you don't believe he was faithful while he was gallivanting all over the world?”

“I guess I never thought about that,” Chelsea admitted.

“Well, he wasn't.”

“And that's why you divorced him?” She could understand that, Chelsea decided reluctantly. It still hurt, being the one left behind. But at least she could finally understand the reason for her family having broken apart.

“Of course not. A wise woman doesn't let a little adultery disrupt a good marriage.”

Chelsea stared at her. “I can't believe you actually mean that.”

“It's not a man's nature to be monogamous,” Deidre insisted. “I personally believe this behavior goes back to
the caveman days, when it was imperative for one man to impregnate several women to keep the species alive.”

“With the exception of drive-by shootings, car-jackings, child abuse and spousal murder, the species seems to be struggling along just fine,” Chelsea argued dryly. “In fact, one could argue that adulterous men abandoning their wives and kids is partly responsible for the mess the country's in today.”

“I'm not going to get into a political or sociological argument with you, Chelsea,” Deidre snapped. “I was merely trying to explain why a wise woman learns to overlook a man's little peccadilloes.”

“Obviously I'm not a wise woman,” Chelsea retorted. “Because I was sorely tempted to cut off Nelson's little peccadillo with a rusty razor blade.”

“I do wish you wouldn't be so crude.”

“It isn't me that's crude, Mother. It's the situation. One that's not of my making. And, even if I was willing to overlook Nelson's sexual betrayal, I will never forgive him for stealing from me.”

“He is not a thief.”

“What do you call cleaning out all my bank accounts?”

“A paperwork mistake. He assures me he's going to get it all cleared up.”

“Excuse me if I don't hold my breath. I was thinking of suing him in civil court—”

Deidre paled beneath her expertly applied Chanel foundation. “You couldn't possibly be considering parading our private family problems in public?”

“No. But not because of any need to protect our family name. I just figure it'd be pointless. And I'm not real wild about publicly stating what a damn fool I was.”

Deidre sighed, folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward, her expression sobering. “I can certainly under
stand how hurt you feel, Chelsea. I even understand—” she tilted her blond head toward the bedroom door “—what you're doing with your sexy architect, but—”

“No.” It was Chelsea's turn to look serious. “I don't think you do, Mother.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, if you think I'm just having an affair to get back at Nelson, you're wrong.”

“You wouldn't be the first woman to seek revenge on an errant mate by going to bed with another man.”

“I'm sure I'm not. But that wasn't my motive. I'm with Cash because I'm pretty sure I'm falling in love with him.”

“You can't be!” Deidre's hand flew to her throat. She was obviously more than a little aghast at this news flash.

“Why not? Cash is very easy to love. He's intelligent, considerate, loving—”

“Sexy as sin,” Deidre interjected.

“True. And that's admittedly a plus. But as reckless as I know you think I am, Mother, I'm wise enough to realize that you can't build a marriage on sex.”

“I told my mother the same thing, when she attempted to talk me out of marrying your father.”

“And you didn't listen.”

“No. And it was the biggest mistake of my life.”

Chelsea felt saddened that her mother would refer to something that had resulted in her birth in such negative terms.

“Loving Cash isn't a mistake, mother. The mistake was not acting on my feelings seven years ago. And, if it makes you feel any better, he hasn't mentioned anything about marriage.”

“Chelsea, I don't want you to take this the wrong way,” Deidre said carefully, “but you haven't told him about your trust fund, have you?”

“Of course I have.” Chelsea stared at her mother as the worried tone sunk in. “Surely you're not suggesting that's why he's interested in me?”

“Two million dollars is a great deal of money, dear.”

“Nelson certainly thought so. Which is obviously why he was so eager to get back together after he managed to burn through his own money.”

Deidre shook her head. “This isn't working, is it?”

“You trying to plead Nelson's case?” Chelsea asked. “No, it's not.”

“Actually, I was speaking of you and me.” There was something new in her mother's tone, something Chelsea had never heard before. Deidre sighed and stood up again. “I have a meeting at the Hospital Guild. I should be going.”

Chelsea knew she should be relieved that the inquisition was over. But instead, she felt the same inner frustration that always plagued her when ending a conversation with her mother.

Why was it, she wondered, things always had to be so damn difficult?

“Please tell Mr. Beaudine goodbye for me.”

“I'll do that,” Chelsea said, walking her mother to the door.

“And have a safe flight back to Georgia.”

“I will.” If they weren't careful, they'd start talking about the weather, Chelsea thought miserably.

Deidre was in the hallway, about to walk away, when she turned back. “And Chelsea…”

“Yes, Mother?” Chelsea steeled herself for another criticism.

“Please. Be careful.”

With that she was gone. Leaving Chelsea frustrated. And feeling so very much alone.

As if reading her mind, Cash came out of the bedroom and took her into his arms.

Chelsea buried her face against his chest. He rested his chin against the top of her head.

Neither of them spoke. There was no need.

 

As construction progressed, Chelsea began spending more and more of her time with Roxanne at Belle Terre.

One afternoon, two months after she'd first arrived in Raintree, Roxanne was upstairs in the mansion's master bedroom suite, trying to convince Cash that she truly needed the automatic clothes rack circling the former dressing room turned closet. When Cash insisted it would make the room look like a dry cleaners, Roxanne responded that was just what she wanted.

Growing bored with the argument, Chelsea wandered outside to the smokehouse, which Roxanne planned to turn into a pool house. Although it hadn't been used for over a hundred years, she imagined she could smell the hickory smoke.

The small building was empty; the crew had driven into Raintree for lunch at Catfish Charlie's, which had become the unofficial caterer of choice for the construction crew.

There was sawdust on the floor, which tickled her nose and made her sneeze. She was digging around in her purse for a tissue when she heard the sound of a booted foot behind her.

She turned, expecting Chase. “Oh.” Her smile faded. “Hello.”

George's yellow smile reminded her of a jackknife blade. His gaze was dangerously feral. “So you're the writer who's going to make Roxanne famous.”

“She's already famous. Which is why I'm writing about her in the first place.” Uneasy, she went to leave.

“Guess that makes sense.” He shifted, barring her way. “What's the hurry?”

“I just remembered something I need to ask Roxanne.” Chelsea refused to let this man know he was capable of frightening her.

“She's busy. With her architect.”

She moved to the other side. “I really need to—”

“I've been watching you.” He moved as well, once more preventing her escape. “Anyone ever tell you that you're a real pretty gal?”

“I'm sorry, but—”

“Yup.” He caught hold of her arm as she tried to push her way past him. “I've been watching you sashaying around—”

“Let me go.” Fear bubbled up in her throat.

“Now, sugar, you know you don't really want to leave. Not until you and I get to know one another a little bit better.”

He stunk of old sweat and cheap after-shave. His words came out on puffs of rank whiskey-scented breath. Chelsea thought if he even tried to put his mouth on hers, she'd throw up.

She was debating her chances of kneeing him in the groin like self-defense experts advised, when the smokehouse door slammed open. Before her eyes could adjust to the blinding shaft of sunlight, George was pulled off his feet and thrown across the stone floor, landing in a pile against the wall.

“Get up and you're a dead man,” Cash growled. He put his arm around Chelsea and looked down at her. “Are you all right? If he hurt you—”

“No.” She'd never seen such iced fury before in any person's eyes. Not even when Cash had threatened Nelson in the Knickerbocker Club. He looked as if he could quite
easily break the horrid man in two without a second thought. “I'm fine. Really,” she insisted, when he looked inclined to argue. “I've had worse encounters on the subway.”

His muttered curse at what she'd meant as reassurance reminded Chelsea that Cash did not think highly of her home city. But apparently deciding to take her at her word, he turned back toward George, who had, despite the warning, risen to his feet.

“You're fired.”

“You can't fire me.” George's eyes flashed like two burning pieces of coal. Now that he'd recovered from the surprise of Cash's unexpected arrival, he'd garnered his prison swagger. “I'm workin' direct for Roxanne.”

“I can fire you. Or I can kill you. Take your pick.”

“You're bluffing.”

“Want to bet?” Cash grabbed the front of George's shirt and pushed him up against the wall. “You're outta here, Waggoner. And if I see you anywhere near Belle Terre or this woman again, I won't bother to call the police. Or your parole officer. I'll rip your heart out. And throw it to the gators in the swamps.”

During his seven years in the joint, George had been threatened by rougher men than this. “You've got me shakin' in my boots, Beaudine.”

The blow was so fast, neither Chelsea or George saw it coming. One minute Cash's hand was at his side. The next instant it was curled into a tight fist and was slamming against George's jaw. He muttered a faint “Ooof” then fell into a heap like a rag doll.

“Figures he'd have a glass jaw,” Cash muttered. Chelsea thought he sounded almost disappointed that George had gone down without a fight. He picked him up by his shirt and threw him out of the smokehouse. “Get the hell out of here, Waggoner. And if you're stupid enough to return, I
promise, the next time I'm not going to stop with one punch.”

Dazed and defeated, George managed to push himself to his feet and stagger back toward the house, past the crew who'd returned from their lunch and were watching events unfold.

Cash's heart was pounding a million beats a minute as he put his arms around Chelsea. He'd never been so angry in his life. Or so terrified. If anything had happened to her…

“You're shaking,” he said.

“I know.” Now that she was safe, she'd begun to tremble. “You are, too.”

He lowered his forehead to hers and let out a long shuddering breath. “Lord, Chelsea… If you only knew how I felt when I saw that bastard touching you…. I could have killed him.”

“I'm glad you didn't.” She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. “He wasn't worth it.”

Cash knew she was right. But as they walked out of the smokehouse, he thought back on the raw violence he'd seen in Waggoner's eyes and worried that they hadn't seen the last of the son of a bitch.

After the incident in the smokehouse, Cash tried to talk Chelsea into moving into Rebel's Ridge with him. But sensing that he was only suggesting it to keep her safe from George Waggoner, who was still hanging around Raintree, she resisted.