Tangled Web (10 page)

Hope glowed, from the respect she saw in his eyes as much as the way she had taken control of the meeting.

Rosemary glared at her son as though he was the worst kind of traitor.

“However,” Hope continued, addressing the board members gathered around her, “it is a major change.”

“Yes, and a rather frightening one at that,” Sam Casey said.

“Because if the consumers don't like the downgrading of goods, we'll lose them forever.”

“Maybe it would make you all feel better if we put together an after-hours cocktail party to introduce our base customers to Barrister's new look,” Hope continued. “We could make a real event out of it. Invite the governor, the mayor, anyone and everyone who is someone in this state.”

“Sounds good,” Chase said. The measure was voted on and passed. Knowing Rosemary was still out to see her fired, Hope took advantage of the opportunity of the meeting and told the group about Russell Morris's offer. To her relief, they were unilaterally opposed to any new business ventures of that sort.

“Too risky,” Cassandra Hayes said.

“I agree,” Sam Casey added. “Even if the profit margins are high, it would take a while to gain consumer trust. Time we don't have.”

Although her face was impassive, inwardly Hope breathed a sigh of relief. The meeting was disbanded. As Hope suspected, Rosemary hung around until everyone else had left but Hope and Chase. She turned to Hope. “You think you've won,” she informed her haughtily. “You haven't. I am not going to let you ruin this store.”

No,
Hope thought,
I am not going to let you ruin it. Nor am I going to let you have the presidency and controlling interest, which you think you so richly deserve.

Chase might have had some claim to them, if he'd wanted them, but not Rosemary. Whether she had meant to or not, Rosemary had done nothing but make Edmond miserable.

“Mother—” Chase began.

“And you! What in heaven's name possessed you to stand up for this—”

Chase's look narrowed warningly.

“—incompetent person!” Rosemary concluded with a sputter. “Have you forgotten what I told you about her and Edmond in Atlanta?”

At that, Hope felt the blood drain from her face. Although she remained standing, she wanted desperately to sit down. How and when had Rosemary found out about that? And what else did she know?

Seeing the damage was done, Rosemary shook her head in silent admonition. “You owe me more than that, Chase. Much more.” She turned on her heel and strode from the room.

The door swung shut behind her. Hope went back to her place at the head of the table.
I have a choice,
she told herself firmly.
I can walk away from this and never know what Rosemary has told him. Or I can have it out with him here and now and risk humiliating myself and his father's memory even further.

She knew what Edmond would do. He had never run from a battle in his life. He'd confronted each head-on and persevered until he had achieved the best outcome possible. She had learned from him. He had helped her to grow. And she would prove it. Looking up at Chase, she said, “What did your mother mean by all that?”

Chase looked as stricken as she felt. “Don't you know?” he asked woodenly.

“Please. Just tell me,” she pleaded softly.
Don't let your mother's half-truths and conjectures stand between us when we're just beginning to be friends.

Chase turned to her. The support he had shown her in the boardroom was gone, as was the tenderness he had shown her when treating her migraine. All she saw now was tension, and distrust. “All right,” he said finally, his jaw set, “but not here. Not where anyone might come in.”

“We could go up on the roof,” Hope suggested cooperatively, adding, “This time of day no one is on the jogging track.” She might not care much what he thought of her, but she cared terribly what he thought about his father. Their relationship had been fragile enough as it was; she wouldn't let Rosemary destroy what few happy thoughts Chase had of Edmond.

“Fine.”

The day was sunny and bright with the mild temperature of early spring. The wind was blowing hard. Chase's hair whipped around his face. Once on the roof, he wasted no time with preliminaries. He told her bluntly that he knew she'd checked into an Atlanta hotel for a weekend with his father, just days before Edmond had initiated his divorce from Rosemary. Chase turned to her, the look in his eyes grim. “Hope, I checked the files. There is no business record of the trip. So it had to have been personal.”

Extremely personal, Hope thought. “It was,” she admitted softly.

Chase's hazel eyes searched her face. “You're still maintaining you didn't break up their marriage?”

“Yes,” Hope said, believing it with all her heart and soul. “Edmond told me they hadn't been close for years, that it was an empty union,” she said with gut-wrenching honesty.

“And that gave you license to have an affair with him?” he asked sarcastically. “While he was still married?”

Hope lowered her eyes, ashamed that it looked that way. Chase clearly thought she was a tramp. “It wasn't like that.”

His patience fled. Chase took her by the shoulders and said gruffly, “Then tell me how it was.”

She shook her head. Her eyes full of tears, she twisted out of his grip.
Forgive me, Edmond,
she thought.
I know how this looks and I'm sorry.
“I can't, Chase. I'm sorry. It's too personal.”

Chase was silent.

“I'm sorry your mother was hurt by all this,” Hope finally said. She was also sorry Rosemary still felt she had to get even.

From a strictly analytical view, she was guilty as hell. The facts said so. Intuitively he felt there was a hell of a lot more. It frustrated him she wouldn't talk about it. It reminded him of Lucy. She, too, had been beautiful and young and troubled. And she, too, had refused to open up to him. Frustrated beyond speech, he heaved a heavy sigh.

So did Hope. She pursed her lips together briefly, afraid if he pursued this any further she would give in to her growing need to vindicate herself. Knowing she couldn't let the truth tumble from her lips, she switched the subject to more neutral ground. “Listen, thanks for supporting me in the meeting.”

Chase was silent, fighting his own welter of conflicting feelings; he wished he could trust Hope implicitly. In terms of the business, he had seen for himself how hard Hope was trying to save Barrister's. And that his mother, despite her sense of self-importance, was about as incompetent as they came in business matters, mostly because she thought with her heart not her head. “It was not an act of chivalry on my part, believe me,” he retorted gruffly, his frustration with Hope's silence only slightly abated. He sent her a level look. “Everything you said made sense.” Right now, he wanted the store to begin making money, so he could go back to his research with a clear conscience.

Hope nodded gravely, still looking a little tense. “The party and all the attendant publicity should help. If I can pull it off,” Hope murmured. She seemed to know that his mother would be working against her every step of the way.

Chase knew that wasn't fair. “Do you need help arranging it?” He heard himself volunteering before he could think. He had to face it: the enforced boredom of not working in research was beginning to make him a little crazy. It was giving him too much
time to think about Hope, to speculate and fantasize and try to understand her actions. He'd found himself thinking of her at all hours, especially at night.

Hope studied him suspiciously. Was he anxious to be a henchman for Rosemary? Or just anxious to fix their troubles so that he could leave? “You're offering to be a volunteer?”

“Yes,” he said, wondering if he was just going through the motions to be polite. All he knew for sure was that he was beginning to feel stifled again, that there were too many expectations being put upon him. His mother expected him to side with her no matter what. Hope had no positive expectations at all. She looked surprised if he did anything the slightest bit nice. Which only pointed out that he must have been an ogre in the past. But if passion hadn't drawn Hope and Edmond together, then what had it been?

“Why did you put forward the Morris deal when you were so against it initially?” he finally asked.

She turned away, the evasive light back in her eyes. She clamped her arms together, her posture defensive. “I didn't want your mother accusing me of being close-minded.”

“Was that the only reason?” he pressed. He had seen firsthand how much she detested Russell Morris; just the mere mention of his name brought out a tenseness in her that was unparalleled and seemed to go far beyond the usual thwarted teenage romance.

No, Hope thought, troubled. With the Monday deadline looming, she had needed to get Russell off her back. Now she could tell him that she had tried—Rosemary could verify that—and it just hadn't worked out. He'd be forced to take his venture elsewhere. She would be rid of him and the danger and the migraines.

Realizing Chase was still waiting for an answer, Hope shrugged and said, “I thought it was only fair. I wanted to test everyone else's opinion, too.”

He edged nearer. Glancing up, she held his eyes. He doesn't believe me, she thought. He knows I'm hiding something and he doesn't like it. But she couldn't tell him why she was afraid of Russell Morris, no matter how kind or sympathetic Chase sometimes seemed. She couldn't tell anyone. It was simply too much of a risk.

“Do we have enough models for the party?” Hope asked.

Chase nodded, from the other side of her desk, and consulted the neatly typed pages he had spread across his lap. “Yes. Ten for every department, with three changes each. They'll circulate among the guests. We're also planning to have live musicians.”

“Classical?”

“For the adult sections of the store,” he confirmed. “In the teen section on the second floor, we've got a DJ coming in, to spin some records and lend some atmosphere.”

“Great. A DJ'll be better than a band, in terms of noise control.” Hope smiled, scribbling notes on the pad in front of her.

“What about the children's section?”

“We've got Big Bird and other Sesame Street characters.”

“The mothers will love that. Maybe they can mill around and hand out discount certificates, too.”

Although she had planned to do much of this herself originally, Chase had convinced her to let him handle most of the groundwork, contingent on her approval of course, while she busied herself by checking the new merchandise lines the buyers were ordering.

Seeing Chase in his suit and tie, she was aware of how dashing he looked. He was handsome enough to model clothes in their print ads. And yet beneath the urban polish, there remained an untamed edge to him, a wildness of heart and a renegade soul she still found intensely compelling. Unlike his father, Chase wouldn't be an easy man to love. But if it was thrills a woman was after, he looked like the type of man who could provide them.

“What's next?” he asked when he had finished writing.

Hope consulted her own notes. “Invitations.” She glanced up.

“When are they going out?”

Chase looked over at her. Being so close to her was hard. Whenever he was, he kept thinking about all the secrets she kept locked inside. The evidence didn't matter. She just didn't seem like the kind of woman who'd set out to steal someone's husband.

“Chase?” Hope prodded. “The invitations. When are they going out?”

Chase glanced back down at his list, chagrined. Caught daydreaming—at his age! Quickly he scanned his timetable. “First thing Friday.”

He was working fast, Hope thought, pleased. That was good. Advance notice would spark interest among their customers. “And the caterers?” she continued, forcing herself to concentrate more closely as she went down her list, too.

“They've already been contacted. They'll be serving finger sandwiches, petit fours, fruits and cheeses, plus the usual assortment of beverages.”

Unlike Rosemary, Chase never challenged Hope's authority; he was simply there to help. Hence, they'd been able to work well together.

Finished with his business, Chase stood restlessly. He regarded her with polite deference. “If you don't need me for anything else, I'll be going.”

Hope glanced up, able to see how eager he was to go. Since he had confronted her about the trip to Atlanta, he'd been unusually edgy and contemplative. She knew why, of course. He was upset because she hadn't explained her way out of the sticky situation or come up with any plausible excuse that would have allowed her to keep what was left of her reputation. “Fine, Chase,” Hope said. She watched him gather his things.

What was she supposed to tell him? That her and Edmond's joint sojourn to Atlanta had been anything but an illicit liaison? That she, distressed by her situation, had been thinking of terminating her pregnancy. And that Edmond, empathizing with her pain and confusion, had gone along to provide moral support for whatever she decided. Then, lauding her decision to bear the child she had never planned for or wanted to have at that young stage of her life, he proposed they marry.

Put like that, it all sounded so cold and calculated. But it hadn't been that way at all. They had been lifelines for each other, best friends at a time in their lives when they'd each been deeply troubled. And they had remained best friends until the day Edmond died.

The phone rang. Thankful for the diversion, Hope picked it up.

Chase watched as the color drained from her face; her hands began to tremble. “I'll be right there,” she said. She put the phone down blindly.

Chase felt his own heart race. Instinctively he knew the news was very bad and, just as instinctively, moved forward to help her. He slid a steadying arm around her waist. “What is it?”

“Joey.” She swallowed, grateful for his arm around her. “He's been taken to the hospital.” She turned to him urgently. “I've got to go.”

Chase took one look at her pale face and knew she was in no shape to drive, let alone maneuver the late-afternoon traffic. He helped her get her purse and, his arm still around her, fell into step beside her. “What happened?” he asked. He felt upset, too; they moved briskly toward the elevators.

“He was at an after-school birthday party and had an asthma attack—a bad one. Apparently he didn't have his inhaler with him. They had to call an ambulance to the skating rink where the party was held. One of the parents chaperoning the party went to the hospital with him.” Fighting tears, she took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around her waist.

Chase knew how she felt. Seeing how unsteady she looked, he tightened his arm around her as they entered the elevators to the parking garage. “I'll drive you.”

Still visibly shaken, she didn't argue.

She didn't look much better when they entered the emergency room and located her son. Joey was resting on a bed, behind a curtained partition. He seemed even smaller and frailer than usual. The pale color of the loose-fitting hospital gown blended into the washed-out look of his skin. “Hey, Mom. Chase,” he said weakly. He lifted a hand, trying hard to look dauntless despite the traumatic afternoon he'd had. He looked from one to the other, gauging reactions. “I guess you heard what happened,” he said sheepishly, obviously embarrassed.

Hope nodded. “I certainly did.” She brushed her lips lightly across his temple. “I'm just glad you're all right.”

Chase was, too. In a severe attack, it could easily have gone the other way. “Where was your inhaler?” he asked his half brother gently.

Joey shrugged, looking suddenly very guilty. “I don't know,” he mumbled, refusing to look Chase in the face. “I guess I forgot to take it with me.”

No, he didn't, Chase thought, watching the telltale play of emotions on his half brother's face.

The mother who had accompanied Joey put her hand to her chest. “It really was awful, Hope. I was never so frightened in my life. One moment he was fine, skating and laughing and racing with the rest of the kids. The next he was sprawled facedown on the floor and turning blue. He couldn't get his breath. None of us knew what to do.”

At the chaperone's emotional description of the crisis, Joey paled. He looked as frightened and guilty and upset with himself as Chase felt he ought to look. Hope looked equally discomfitted and alarmed. Recognizing the need to get the woman out of there before she unwittingly did any more damage, Chase took her by the shoulders and guided her out the door, affording Hope and Joey some time alone. By the time he had thanked the woman for escorting Joey to the hospital and paid the cabdriver to take her home, Hope was once again emerging from the curtains around Joey's bed. If possible, she looked even more drained and frightened than before. His heart went out to her. This was not something she or any parent should have to endure alone. And with his father's death, she was very much alone.

He moved to one side of the hall. She joined him. “He's dressing,” she reported with a trembling lower lip, trying very hard to keep up a brave front. “The doctor says we can take him home now.”

Chase sighed his relief. “That's a good sign,” he said. It meant the attack had been a relatively mild one after all. It probably could have been contained had Joey just had his inhaler with him at the rink.

“I know. Oh, Chase, I—” Without warning, tears filled her eyes.

Before he could think, Chase had his arm around her waist and
was holding her against him, supporting the softness of her trembling body against his taller, stronger frame. At his touch, she cried all the harder; he automatically gathered her close. And he found there was nothing remotely familial about the way she felt against him. No, she was all woman, he thought.

“Oh, Chase,” she whispered. “All the way over here I was so afraid. I get so scared when he—”

“I know.” Chase patted her back comfortingly. He had been frightened, too.

Needing simply to be held, she leaned into him, wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight.

He'd meant only to offer her a shoulder to cry on and that was all. But at her continued closeness, a slow, burning pleasure started in his loins and moved up, until it suffused his entire body.

Not, Chase observed wryly, that it was any great wonder. Slender and feminine, she was everything he had ever physically wanted in a woman. Her breasts were full and soft where they touched against his chest. Her thighs were slim and strong beneath the fabric of her skirt. Her calves curved gently against his. Her hair was fragrant and soft as it spread across his shoulder. Her lips— He cut off the thought.

“Okay?” he asked suddenly. He wished she'd step back now and give
him
some room to recover.

But she didn't. And powerless to prevent it, he felt the traitorous reaction of his body continue to build.

Not that holding her in his arms wasn't the sweetest pleasure. Hell, yes, it was. He wanted to comfort her and wanted to find a way to halt her tears. He just didn't want her to be aware of his body's response. If she backed out of his arms right now, there was a chance, as distraught as she was, that she wouldn't be aware. His mouth was dry as he waited for her to pull herself together, step back and save them both from possible embarrassment.

She only shook her head. Apparently she wasn't yet feeling okay or anywhere near it. Feeling her body shake with those silent sobs that were probably as much for herself and all she had lost as for Joey, evoked a powerful response within him. He wanted to help her channel that wellspring of emotion and devastating loss within her into a cathartic passion that would please them both. As he continued to hold her, it was all he could do
not
to slide his fingers beneath her chin, tilt her face up to his and kiss her,
really kiss her. He wanted to taste the softness of her mouth and feel her body respond to his.

Finally, mercifully, her tears slowed. “I'm sorry,” she apologized. Embarrassed, she drew back slightly and allowed some space between them, just moments before his own throbbing response became apparent. “I've gotten your jacket all wet,” she said.

Chase exhaled slowly. At the moment, a damp jacket was the least of his worries. “It's okay, Hope.” Because she seemed to need a reassuring touch, and because he was loath to let her go entirely just yet, he kept his arms loosely around her waist.

“No, it's not okay,” Hope argued, her formidable inner strength returning. “And what happened today isn't, either. I'm furious with Joey. How could he be so careless as to leave his inhaler at school? He knows he's supposed to take it with him at all times.”

Chase lifted a brow. He was relieved Hope had vented all that pent-up emotion and cried herself out. He was glad to have been able to help her, but he wasn't the one who should be getting this lecture. “Did you read
him
the riot act for forgetting it?” he responded softly but firmly.

“No, of course not.” Hope's chin tilted up defiantly, and then she froze, as if fully realizing he was actually holding her, however loosely. She withdrew from the loose circle of his arms. A slightly panicked look on her face, she backed up until her spine touched the mint-green concrete wall behind her. She used her knuckle to dab at the moisture beneath her eyes. “I don't want to upset him even more.”

“But you will do so later,” Chase ascertained, the words more an order than a question.

But as it happened, to his growing aggravation, she didn't do it later. Not when the nurse came out to tell them Joey was ready to go home, or in the car ride back to River Oaks, or during the light supper Joey ate before falling into bed. And Chase, who felt an obligation to his father to ensure that his half brother retained his health, couldn't understand why she didn't take a harder line with her son.

“You should have scolded him,” Chase said, not attempting to hide his mixed feelings of frustration and bewilderment. The two were walking back down the stairs of the home he had grown up in; the house was now Hope's and Joey's in every way, from the
redecorated color schemes and the delicate arrangements of flowers to the homey signs of little-boy clutter that graced every elegant room. He just didn't understand this. Hope was so careful and thorough in ever other regard. It wasn't like her to overlook the obvious.

Hope's head lifted. Her eyes glimmered at the implicit censure in his words. “I don't think it's necessary, Chase. I think he learned his lesson. Besides,” she shook her head in mute despair, “I don't want to scare him with horror stories of what might happen.”

Neither did Chase. But Hope was overly protective when it wasn't necessary, then refused to speak to Joey when there was an emergency. And Chase didn't want to lose him. Unless someone made it crystal clear to Joey that his health was nothing to play around with, that possibility still existed. “He's already scared,” Chase countered softly, following Hope into the room. He watched her close the white louvered shutters and turn on several lights against the falling darkness. Carmelita had already left; it was her night off. With Joey upstairs, in bed asleep, the house was inordinately quiet. Keeping his voice low, Chase stepped closer to Hope, continuing to press his point, hoping to talk some sense into her. “That doesn't necessarily mean he's learned anything from this experience except that he managed to come out of it relatively unscathed. This time, anyway.”