The Last in Line (The Royal Inheritance Series Book 1) (13 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

HARRY PASSED THE bundle of newspapers through the door to Chase, who glanced at them briefly and sighed.

“There,” he said and slapped them down in front of Renee.

Renee and Cassandra pounced, each taking different papers, spreading them open and hiding behind them until they had finished reading to switch with each other. Each paper had a similar cover with a large picture of Renee facing a large picture of Bretton. One of them had superimposed Renee’s head onto a boxer who was facing a similarly superimposed Bretton. They had their boxing gloves up and faced off under the headline
Royal Rumble
. Roberts stood by the table, peering down to read, but pretending he wasn’t. “The tabloids are utter trash,” he said and bent down to get a closer look.

“Mom, this one says you were once suspended from school for smoking marijuana,” said Cassandra. Renee pretended like she didn’t hear.

“This one here is quite flattering, Ma’am. It says you’re a five foot seven beauty of the Plains,” said Roberts.

Chase opened one of the papers. “Cor, look at this one! They’ve found your high school portrait. Was your fringe really that high?”

“They’re called bangs and they were all the fashion back then and took half a can of hairspray. The higher, the better,” said Renee and snatched the paper from Chase’s hands. She scanned it and frowned. “High school portraits should never be blown up to full page size. Look at that zit! Why are they printing ugly pictures of me and nice ones of Bretton? Look at this one of him dressed up in his Christmas suit when he was five. Is that fair?—Big zit versus cute kid—Who do you think people are going to vote for?”

“It’s not an election, Ma’am,” reminded Roberts.

“It might as well be,” Renee countered. “Public opinion will determine who the government chooses and right now”—Renee held up a newspaper dominated by the image of Bretton’s smiling, rogueish face that was captioned
Prince Dreamboat
—“he’s ahead by a mile.”

“There’s no comparison,” said Chase.

Renee fell silent. She hated it when he said things like that. It made her remember the moment on the flight over when they had been nearly touching, when she could have leaned over and kissed him. He had smelled so nice…

“Earth to Mom, are you there?”

Renee jumped in her seat. She hadn’t realized she’d been daydreaming. “Over, Rover,” she said. Cassandra rolled her eyes. Clearly, being a queen—or almost a queen—didn’t equate to being cool.

Ever since her location had been outed on television, the phone in the hotel suite had not stopped ringing. Normally Roberts answered it and served as a screener, often redirecting calls to the Prime Minister’s office or taking care of business himself. The phone rang again, but Roberts and Chase were deep in conversation so Renee got up to answer it herself.

“Hello?” she said.

“Hey, I’m short a waitress and wanted to know if you could fill in tonight,” said a brassy female voice.

“Brenda! How did you get this number?” Renee nearly hugged the phone from joy.

“It was an ingenious plan. I watched the news, saw a reporter in front of Hotel Haviland talking about my former waitress, called the hotel and asked to be transferred to the future queen’s room. Voila! Yep, they don’t make ‘em as smart as this every day.”

Renee wanted to both laugh and cry. It was so good to hear Brenda’s familiar, booming voice. She could hear a lot of noise and clattering in the background. “Are you at the diner?”

“Where else would I be?”

“How is everybody?”

“I’m up to my ears in waitress drama and I think Antonio spiked the guacamole because Bryan has been running back and forth to the bathroom ever since eating the Southwestern Omelet. Oh, here he comes now. I’ve got to go, but I’ll call back when I can. Say hi to Squirt for me.”

Brenda hung up and Renee was left clutching the phone. She wanted to talk to Brenda some more; she always had words of advice and would know what to do with this Bretton person that was making her life miserable. She put the phone back on the cradle. Roberts and Chase were still talking and Cassandra was buried deep in the tabloids; she had been mentioned several times.

The phone rang again and Renee thought they were going to have to hire a switchboard operator soon, but she snatched it up, eager to have a full on girls’ talk with Brenda.

The voice on the other end wasn’t Brenda.

She felt a tightening in her chest and the oxygen supply in the room seemed to rapidly decrease. Her face went pale and she broke out in a cold sweat. Chase looked up and saw her altered state, the anxiety in her eyes. He was by her side instantly and took the phone from her shaking hand.

“Who is this?” he demanded. “Bretton, if you so much as—”

But it wasn’t Bretton. Chase’s eyes opened wide, his face a mask of horror. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Silently, he handed the phone back to Renee and went to sit in a corner, head in hands. Roberts and Cassandra looked on fearfully.

Renee reluctantly put the phone to her ear again. The person had not stopped talking, unaware that the phone had been handed back and forth.

“—Awe come on, Sweetie, you can tell me your name. Don’t be shy. I can tell you’re tall by how deep your voice is.”

“Mama, it’s Renee on the phone,” said Renee, cutting off the verbal torrent.

“Renee! Who was that handsome man on the phone? You can always tell by a man’s voice what he’s going to look like before you see him and that one’s a looker, for sure. Also always check out a man’s hands; that’ll tell you a lot. Is he single? I know you’re not dating him. Is he—”

Renee shut her eyes and wished she could make it stop. Conversations with her mother never went well. Renee was perfectly content to know that her mother was far away in Reno.
Oh God, please let her still be in Reno.

“Mama, was there something you wanted?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I wanted to know why you are on the 6 o’clock news and why they are saying that you are going to be the queen of England. I had to check my calendar to make sure it wasn’t April Fool’s Day. It’s just the type of joke you would play.”

“Mama, when have I ever played a joke on you?” said Renee.

“Lots of times. Like the time you told me you were pregnant…”

“I
was
pregnant,” said Renee through gritted teeth. “The kid’s name is Cassandra. The last time you saw her you ended up taking back her birthday money.”

“Times were hard, honey, and I needed that money for an investment. Todd had an idea to buy some equipment and invest in a silver mine near Bodie. He figured the mine wasn’t tapped out yet.”

“How many boyfriends ago was Todd?” asked Renee, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. Her mother’s taste in men ranged from the merely sleazy to the criminally investigated. She couldn’t figure out how her mother had ended up with her father, a man honest and hardworking, but austere. A man who disapproved of gambling and cards, though his poker face was so intimidating that on the rare occasions when he had been persuaded to sit down and play, he had cleaned up, whereas her mother loved games of chance and could often be found pumping quarters into slot machines. Her father’s preferred mode of relaxation had been to read a trade magazine while the radio played Waylon Jennings or Willie Nelson, taking long draws on his cigarette and kicking his feet up, while her mother would pace restlessly in the house lamenting the long drive to town and the high price of gasoline, wishing she could go shopping and play bingo. Really, it was a mystery to Renee how those two ever got together. But right now she was focused on her mother. “That worked out, didn’t it, just like they all do and then you had to borrow money from me again when the mine didn’t work out and he left you in Carson City.”

“You watch your mouth, Missy.”

“I’m a grown up and I’ll talk however I darn well please!”

Renee was red in the face. Her mother always did this to her, always acted as if Renee was the guilty party while she was as innocent as a lamb. Always made her feel like she was 14 years old and had to justify herself. Oh, that’s right, her mother wasn’t around when she was 14 years old. She had already run off with some guy who wasn’t her father.

Roberts tapped her on the shoulder. “Mother troubles?” Renee nodded, too angry to speak. “I’m excellent with mothers, you know—worked with one for decades. Allow me.”

“Have at it,” said Renee and tossed him the phone. She went to collapse in a chair. Talking to her mother was like wrestling with a python; you could never get a good enough hold on it to kill it.

“Hello, this is Roberts. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” said Roberts in a voice so smooth and English it could have sliced through icebergs as easily as a knife through warm butter. She heard her mother’s angry rant dissolve into a girlish flutter. “Really? There’s such spirit in your expression, I would not have taken you for more than twenty-five. No, it’s not possible that you are Ms. Krebs’s mother. I just cannot accept it, a delightful lady like you.” Chase smothered his laughter behind a throw pillow, but his shoulders quaked from the effort to keep silent. “No, Ma’am, she’s not ignoring you at all, she’s merely had a very tiring day and went to take something for a headache. No, I’m not currently married; I never met the right…My hands? Why, they’re normal sized, I suppose. What do you…No, I really don’t think that’s necessary…No…please don’t….no…Yes, I will send a car to fetch you tomorrow. Yes. Four o’clock. Cheerio.”

Roberts turned to them with a crestfallen expression. “Your mother, she’s…”

“You invited her here?!” Renee jumped to her feet.

“Certainly not. She already had a ticket and I merely agreed to provide transportation from the airport.” Roberts looked down guiltily at his polished wing-tipped shoes.

Renee was too upset to be polite. “That’s really perfect. I didn’t need any other problems so thank you.”

“It will be all right, you’ll see Ma’am. Perhaps she is eager to bury the hatchet,” said Roberts.

Renee glared at him. She wished she had a hatchet; she wasn’t lacking any candidates to bury it in.

Seeing he wasn’t going to get any help from Renee, Roberts turned to Chase.

“Oh no,” said Chase putting up his hands. “When she gets here she’s your responsibility. After all, you have a way with mothers.” He shook with laughter.

Renee stalked off to her room and slammed the door so hard the paparazzi outside probably heard it. Great, this was all she needed. Between Bretton, the paparazzi hounding her and now her mother popping up in her life at the first hint of money…Roberts didn’t lie, she really did feel a headache coming on and switched off the light with the dread knowledge of what tomorrow would bring.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

WHEN RENEE WAS THIRTEEN, her mother Leanne told her it was time to start wearing makeup and taking more care with her clothes. Renee hadn’t taken kindly to this advice as it didn’t seem to matter to the horses what she wore and she presumed a skirt and shiny shoes with buckles would only get in the way. Leanne sat her down on a stool and told her to hold still and close her eyes. Renee couldn’t stop worrying that her mother would poke her in the eye with the eyeliner pencil.

“Ok, open ‘em up,” her mother trilled.

Renee blinked her eyes open and stared into the mirror Leanne held. Her eyes were rimmed in the same blue her mother used to line her eyes. It made her look as if she had caught some rare, Amazonian malady where she would start bleeding from her eyes any minute.

“Now pucker your lips.”

Renee obeyed, calculating this would all end sooner if she went along with it. Leanne swiped lipstick and Renee kissed the tissue she held out. The results were horrifying. The pink lipstick clashed with her strawberry blonde hair. She looked like some garish misrepresentation of herself, but her mother kept going on about how “glamorous” she looked and how the boys would go crazy over her. Renee looked directly at her and dragged her arm across her mouth, leaving a long, pink smear on her sleeve.

Leanne put her hand on her hip. “What’s wrong with you people? It’s always dirty boots, dirty knees, and a whole lot of thanks for nothing!”

She stomped outside and Renee could hear her on the porch. She could distinguish the words “nowhere,” “wasting my life,” and “sick of it all.” Renee was glad the closest neighbors were a mile down the road so no one would hear. She assumed the “you people” encompassed both Renee and her father George, which was odd because they didn’t have much of a bond, what with her father not being much for conversation, although they did both enjoy being outdoors and leaning against the fence to watch the horses trot or just eat grass. They both enjoyed the tense moment when a new horse would get saddled up for the first time, not knowing what the next ten seconds might bring, that sense of being ready for anything, that moment of possibility which made life worth living. Her mother, though, didn’t see it that way. She saw horses as a huge financial drain when George could be earning better elsewhere…elsewhere being a city with more people and glamour and glitz.

Leanne made no secret of her belief that she was meant for something better. She often talked about moving to Branson and auditioning there for one of the stage shows or perhaps as a solo singer. She wanted to live in a place where her rhinestone jacket and teased up blonde hair were wholly appropriate every day of the week, where someone would recognize her obvious talent and make her a star.

Leanne moped for a week, hardly saying a word to either George or Renee. Renee tried not to be hurt by it since her mother was often moody, but the extra sighs and force she used to angrily stub out her cigarettes told her that the makeup incident was still on Leanne’s mind. And so it was with some surprise that Renee answered a knock at the door one day and C.J., a man she knew as a guy her father often hired for repair work on the ranch, asked if her mother was at home.

“Mama! C.J. is here,” Renee shouted. She wondered why C.J. wanted to talk to her mother since it was her father who paid him and he was out at an auction to look for a tractor.

Leanne poked her head out of her bedroom door with a look of surprise. She went to the front door and Renee went back to watching television. Her mother spoke in a low voice. Renee turned the volume down on the television set in order to eavesdrop better.

“You weren’t supposed to come until later when she was gone. What am I supposed to tell her?” said Leanne angrily.

“That’s not my problem. You said you wanted to do this. Are you coming or aren’t you?” replied CJ.

Leanne glanced over her shoulder at Renee who quickly pretended to be absorbed in whatever was playing on the screen. “Just give me a minute,” Leanne whispered to him and closed the door quietly. Leanne went back to the bedroom. Renee tried to make it look like she wasn’t watching her every move, but when Leanne came out with a suitcase and her big purse slung over her shoulder she couldn’t pretend anymore.

“Where are you going?”

Leanne rested the purse on the suitcase. “Renee, this is going to be hard for you to understand, but I want you to try, ok?”

“You’re leaving.” Renee didn’t need to be talked to like a child. She felt fury boiling up inside her, but what came out was choked tears. “What about Dad?” she cried. “What about me? I’ll wear the lipstick, I promise!”

“Honey, this isn’t about you or about any silly old lipstick,” said Leanne. “It doesn’t make sense now, but it will when you’re older. I just need more than this.”

Renee was openly weeping now. “You don’t need me?”

“That’s not it at all. You’ll understand when you’re older.” Leanne bent to give her a hug. Renee wanted both to push her mother away and hold her tightly to keep her from leaving. Leanne pulled out of her grasp. “I’ll always love you. Look after your dad.” She picked up her suitcase and purse and went to the door.

“I hate you!” Renee screamed as the door closed behind Leanne. She ran to the door and yanked it open in time to see C.J. throw the suitcase in the back of the truck and get behind the wheel. He didn’t bother looking at her, but even worse—neither did her mother. “Don’t go! Mama, don’t leave!”

The truck peeled away. Dust was still floating in the air when she lost sight of it and her mother. She crumpled to the floor of the porch and rocked back and forth. Tears flowed down her face and slipped through the cracks of the wood planks. George found her there an hour later, sitting with her arms wrapped around a porch post and her head resting against it. She didn’t look up as he walked up the porch steps, the heels of his boots made a thudding sound that reverberated through the empty spaces in her heart. She could feel him looking at her curiously.       “Mom left,” she said. She felt hollow.

“Where did she go?”

With a sickening feeling, Renee realized she didn’t know. She dissolved into panicked sobs. “I don’t know. She left with C.J.”

George ran back down to the stairs and jumped into his truck, driving away with an enormous roar of the engine. He didn’t return for two hours, by which time Renee had dragged herself inside and curled up on the floor in front of the sofa.

“Renee?”

Renee didn’t respond. He draped a blanket over her and then went to the kitchen and from the highest cabinet, the one that Renee couldn’t reach, pulled down a bottle of whiskey that had hardly been touched in five years. He took it with him into the bedroom that had been so recently vacated by Leanne and shut the door. She didn’t see him until the next afternoon.

There was no word from Leanne and Renee got into the habit of making dinner and doing the shopping whenever George drove into town. George was even more silent than ever. Three weeks later there came word that C.J. had been seen slinking around town. George left in the truck to pay a visit to him and returned with a split knuckle and the name of a place. “She’s in Phoenix.”

“But that’s not anywhere near Branson!” said Renee. She had convinced herself that was where her mother had gone, and had even formulated a plan to save up her birthday money from Nana Ross to buy a bus ticket there.

Deep down she knew it wasn’t her father’s fault that Leanne had left, but she was going to act like it was and no longer sat on the fence rail watching him train the horses. She knew that the real culprit was herself. She hadn’t been the type of daughter that Leanne wanted. Renee decided to change that so that when her mother came back—she wouldn’t allow herself to think the word “if”—Leanne would decide to stay. She began spending hours in front of the mirror curling her hair and applying eye shadow, mascara and lipstick. The boys began to notice, just as her mother had said, but they were older and not the ones from her class.

Already at a loss as to what to do with his motherless daughter, George let her have her freedom. When she stopped coming home at night he tried the opposite approach of grounding her, but nothing worked. Whenever she met a new boy she got the same feeling as when she used to saddle a new horse; you never knew what was going to happen. She wanted to keep that feeling going.
Needed
to keep that feeling going.

Out of the blue, about four months after leaving, Leanne called. Renee answered it. When she heard her mother’s voice her heart almost stopped. She wanted to hold the phone to her ear forever, but instead she just handed it over to her father when he asked who it was. George spoke quietly so she couldn’t hear. He seemed as desperate to hear her voice as Renee, but then he got louder and more agitated. “That is absolutely shameless,” she heard him say. He slammed down the phone and stood there, face to the wall, shoulders hunched like an old man, breathing heavily.

“What did she say?” Renee finally ventured.

“She wanted money,” said her father. He walked out onto the porch and slammed the door. He was doing a lot of that lately. Through the window she saw him spark a match and light a cigarette. The sash was up and she heard him utter a low oath. She knew he would give Leanne the money despite her betrayal. That made Renee hate him for being weak and hate her mother for being a user. She hadn’t even asked to talk to Renee.

Every six months or so after that the phone would ring and Renee would see her father’s back stiffen. She heard the chatty, overly exuberant voice pouring out over the line. Her mother’s voice was so loud she could hear it even when she went into another room and closed the door. Always Leanne would talk about interesting things she’d seen or a great band she heard, but would be evasive about who she was with or how she was making a living. Every conversation would end with the same request for money and the promise that it would be the last time she asked for it, she just needed to get on her feet, to find herself. Renee took to walking past her father saying, “Don’t do it.” But he always did.