THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTER

by Ginna Gray

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

  © 2000

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  One

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  In Ruby Falls, Texas, population 3,418, the sleek Viper convertible stood out like a tuxedo at a barn dance.

  Heads turned and jaws dropped when the stunning redhead roared into town behind the wheel of the hot car, the top down, her long hair streaming behind her like a fiery banner, The Best of Kenny Rogers blaring from the speakers.

  The car's cream leather seats and green exterior were the perfect foil for her ivory skin and vibrant hair. The emerald color was only a shade darker than her eyes, a fact that escaped few of the gawkers who followed her progress through town.

  Though her eyes were currently hidden behind a pair of Christian Dior sunglasses, there was scarcely a person in the country, or even the world who didn't know their exact color. Periodically over the past seven years, Maggie Malone's face, usually wearing a sexy smile while those fabulous eyes danced with wicked amusement, had graced the cover of every major magazine in the U.S. and Europe.

  Noticing the stunned faces out of the corner of her eye, Maggie experienced a rush of satisfaction. The reactions were exactly what she'd hoped for when she'd made arrangements to have the Viper delivered to the Dallas-Fort Worth airport in time for her arrival.

  Seven years ago, she'd left Ruby Falls in disgrace, but by heaven, she was returning a success. And nothing drove that point home better than a classy fireball of a car.

  Reaching the center of town and a bit of traffic, Maggie downshifted, and the Viper responded with a throaty rumble as she slowed behind Miss Agnes Purvey's 1964 Chevy II, which, Maggie noticed, still looked as though it had just rolled off the assembly line.

  The traffic light up ahead at the north end of the town square had been green for several minutes. If she hadn't been stuck behind Miss Agnes and a U.P.S. truck she would have punched the accelerator and made the first turn around the square with seconds to spare before the light changed.

  "Ah, jeezlouise, Miss Agnes! Move your skinny little butt, will you?"

  Even as Maggie muttered the words she knew she was wasting her breath. Occasionally Miss Agnes cranked her speed up to a hair-raising thirty on the highway, but she never drove over twenty in town, and then only when someone was impertinent enough to honk or tailgate, as Maggie was doing.

  That was why Miss Agnes never put more than five gallons of gas at a time in the Chevy. The prim little spinster swore that a full tank made the car go too fast.

  The U.P.S. truck swung a right and started the counterclockwise circuit around the square. Miss Agnes, her permed silver hair a halo of tight curls around her head, clutched the steering wheel with both hands and chugged along behind him. The U.P.S. truck hung a left onto the second side of the square before the old lady completed the first turn, leaving Maggie facing a red signal light.

  She braked with a little squeal of tires and a huff of exasperation. After only a few seconds, though, she shook her head, a hint of a smile on her lips.

  In all honesty, Maggie didn't really mind Miss Agnes's pokiness. During the past seven years she'd dreamed often of returning home someday, and in her mind's eye she'd always pictured things in Ruby Falls exactly as they'd been the night she'd left. It was comforting to know that at least some things hadn't changed.

  Drumming long, cinnamon-colored fingernails against the padded leather steering wheel, Maggie glanced around while she waited. Obviously, she needn't have worried. From the look of it, not much of anything had changed in Ruby Falls.

  On the way into town she had noticed a new Safeway grocery out on the Dallas highway next to Rowdy's Bar and Grill, and where the old abandoned gas station had been at Mimosa and Main a Jiffy Lube had sprung up, but other than that everything was wonderfully familiar.

  The same white-trimmed, redbrick shops lined the square. Still anchoring the four corners were the First National Bank, Purdue's Pharmacy, Handyman Hardware and the Elks Lodge. Two blocks off Main to the east, the white spire of the Calvary Baptist Church still rose above the oak, sweet gum and pecan trees.

  For almost one hundred and thirty years, the sandstone courthouse had sat smack in the middle of the square. The ancient oaks dotting the surrounding grounds had reached their full growth long before Maggie was born. On this fine September afternoon, as they had every warm day since anyone could remember, old men played dominoes in the shade beneath the gnarled branches. Over the years the faces had changed as old-timers passed on and others took their place, but the cutthroat games continued, regular as the seasons.

  Maggie recognized several of the silver-haired men—Ned Paxton, Oliver Jessup, the Toliver twins, Roy and Ray. Jeezlouise, there was even old Moses Beasley. The old coot had to be pushing a hundred. The World War I veteran had been a fixture in the square all of Maggie's life.

  A group of women poured out of the Elks Lodge onto the sidewalk just a few feet away from the car, chattering among themselves.

  Ah, yes, another thing that remained constant, Maggie thought. Come hell or high water, the first and third Thursday afternoons of every month the ladies' auxiliary met at the lodge. Apparently, the meeting had just ended.

  Leading the pack was Edna Mae Taylor, Dorothy Purdue and Pauline Babcock, the three biggest gossips in town.

  The instant the women spotted her they came up short, gaping.

  Immediately the others plowed into them from behind.

  "What in the world? Goodness gracious, Dorothy, why'd you stop like th…? Oh, my stars! Isn't that…?"

  "Yes," Pauline snapped. "That's her, all right."

  "What's she doing here? She hasn't been back even once since she lit out of here seven years ago."

  "I expect she's come to see her daddy. You know, what with him being so ill an' all."

  "And about time, I say."

  "Humph. I can't imagine that seeing the likes of her will be good for him." Pauline sniffed. "I heard tell he disowned her years ago."

  "Oh, surely not. Lily would never let Jacob do that. She loves that girl somethin' fierce, you know."

  "Well, all I know is Lily goes to New York to see her two or three times a year. Alone," Edna Mae added with a knowing look. "And Lucille was told by Inez, who got it on good authority, that Jacob hasn't so much as spoken to the girl on the telephone since she left."

  "And who can blame him? She was a wild one. Used to drive poor Jacob crazy with her shenanigans. And after what she tried to do … well…"

  "True. That was shameful. Still, blood is blood, and in times of crisis, a man wants his family gathered around him."

  "Yes, well, you'd think, under the circumstances, she'd at least have the decency to arrive quietly. But oh, no. Not Maggie," Pauline huffed. "She has to make a spectacle of herself. Why, just look at that car. And listen to that loud music. You mark my word—"

  The traffic light turned green. Flashing the women a grin, Maggie reached over and cranked up the volume on the stereo. She squealed a right, "Love, or Something Like It" blaring from the speakers in Kenny's whiskey voice, the heavy throb of the base reverberating in the air like a giant heartbeat.

  Nothing much distracted the domino players from their games, but the rumble of the Viper and the honky-tonk music grabbed their attention. Heads came up and swiveled in unison, following the sleek machine as it growled its way around three sides of the square.

  Maggie waggled her fingers in a flirtatious wave, then winked, puckered her luscious red lips and blew them all a kiss.

  At their slack-jawed astonishment, she laughed and hung a right, speed-shifted into second and peeled rubber down Main on the s
outh side of the square.

  No, nothing had changed in Ruby Falls.

  Before she'd gone a block her laughter faded and she made a wry face at her own behavior. Lord, how easy it was to fall back into old patterns. Back in town five minutes, and already she'd deliberately baited the gossips. She hadn't resorted to that sort of thumb-your-nose-in-their-faces defense since she'd left here.

  But then again, there had been no need.

  Those few minutes in the square had distracted Maggie, but now, drawing close to home, the nervousness was back and growing worse with every rhythmic thump-thump of the tires on the paving.

  Ever since that awful telephone call four days ago she'd been wound as tight as an eight-day clock.

  The call had come in the middle of the night while she had been on a photo shoot on an island off the coast of Greece. At her mother's first words she had bolted upright in the bed, her heart pounding.

  "Maggie, you have to come home."

  "Momma? Is that you?" All she'd heard was a sob, and she'd gripped the receiver tighter. "Calm down, and tell me what's wrong."

  "Please, Maggie, you have to come home. I'm begging you."

  "Oh, Momma, you know I'd like nothing better. But I can't. Nothing has changed."

  "Yes, it has," her mother had cried tearfully. "Your daddy is dying! Oh, God, Maggie, my Jacob is dying."

  The words had hit her like a fist to the stomach. Remembering the shock and pain of that moment, Maggie gripped the steering wheel tight and bit her lower lip.

  "Wh-what?" she had replied weakly, sinking back against the pillows. "But … but you told me just a few days ago that he was holding his own. That the tumor in his lung was shrinking. If I had known he was so ill I wouldn't have flown halfway around the world."

  "I know, I know," Lily said in a chagrined voice. "But I knew you had this important job, and I didn't want to worry you. And for a while the treatment did seem to be working," she added quickly before Maggie could take her to task. "Then his condition worsened."

  "Oh, Momma, why didn't you tell me?"

  "I should have, I know. But at the time Dr. Lockhart seemed so positive that another round of chemotherapy would halt the cancer, so I didn't see any point in alarming you needlessly. But it didn't work, Maggie," Lily said, her voice quavering. "That horrible, insidious disease is winning. It's going to take my Jacob from me."

  Lily barely choked out the last, and Maggie fought back tears of her own as she listened to her mother's pitiful sobs. It was several seconds before the wrenching sounds turned to sniffs and Lily regained enough control to speak again.

  "The doctors sent him home. There's nothing more they can do for him at the hospital other than make him as comfortable as possible. They give him three or four months. Five at best."

  "Oh, Momma," Maggie murmured in a stricken voice, closing her eyes. She felt as though the ground had just dropped out from under her. Her father? Dying? No. No, it couldn't be. It was too soon. She needed more time!

  "So you see, you have to come home."

  "But … Daddy doesn't want me there."

  "No! No, you're wrong! Believe me, when a man knows he hasn't much time left he sees things differently. Trust me, dear, your father wants you to come home."

  "Did he … did Daddy actually say he wanted to see me?" She tightened her grip on the receiver, doing her best to clamp down on the hope swelling inside her.

  "Well … maybe not in so many words—"

  "Oh, Momma—"

  "But he hinted at it," Lily insisted. "Momma, please—"

  "Maggie, I've been married to your daddy for almost twenty-nine years. I can read him like a book. He wants to ask, but you know his stiff-necked pride. He took a stance and now he thinks he can't back down. But he needs to do this, sweetheart."

  She waited a beat, then added, "So do you."

  No fair, Maggie thought, tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling in an agony of doubt. No fair.

  Lily's voice lowered, quavered with urgency. "This is the end of the line, Maggie. Your last chance to make peace with your father. If you don't, you'll always regret it."

  Sighing, Maggie closed her eyes and massaged her forehead with the fingertips of her free hand. "You make it tough to say no."

  "Then don't. Come home, Maggie. I'm begging you. Please, please come home. Before it's too late."

  The pathetic little catch in her mother's voice had been her undoing. That, and her own helpless yearning.

  She had been only one of five top models on the shoot. The photographer, Jean Paul Delon, was notoriously temperamental but a brilliant artist who ran his shoots like a fascist dictator. Luckily, he was also a softy when it came to family. With the complete agreement of the other models, who were all sympathetic and supportive, Jean Paul worked only Maggie the next day to complete her part in the shoot.

  After the grueling dawn-till-dusk stint in front of the cameras, she had caught the red-eye for the first leg of her journey. It had taken her the better part of three days just to get home.

  In flight, Maggie had contacted her agency and explained her situation and given instructions to clear her schedule for the next four months—or at least, whittle it down drastically.

  It had not been easy. The job had required all the diplomatic skills of Val Brownley, the owner of the Valentina Modeling Agency, to handle the disgruntled clients.

  Those photo shoots, TV appearances and promotions that could be delayed without causing a major crisis or a lawsuit were rescheduled, and other models were assigned to those accounts that would accept a substitute.

  Unavoidably there were some commitments Maggie would have to honor. Her exclusive contract with Eve Cosmetics, for one. The Stephano Perfume shoot for another. Plus a few other contractually binding deals.

  Which would mean flying back and forth every few weeks, but compared to her normal frenetic schedule, that would be a piece of cake.

  Val was not happy. She had thrown a fit and tried every argument and threat she could dream up to change Maggie's mind. In the end Maggie had informed her that if the agency didn't reduce her workload for the next few months, she would be forced to quit.

  What choice did she have? Her father was dying, and he wanted to see her.

  On the south side of town the houses were older, bigger, farther apart, more elegant—Victorian-colonial- and mission-style homes with wide porches flanked by massive azalea bushes, set far back off the street among enormous shade trees. This was where the old guard had always lived—the founding families who owned the businesses, ran the town and were what passed for society in Ruby Falls.

  Maggie passed the impressive white colonial where her sister Laurel lived with her husband and father-in-law, but she clenched her jaw and drove on without so much as a glance at the place. The mere thought of her sweet sister married to Martin Howe made her physically ill.

  A mile past the city limits sign Maggie turned off the highway onto the black-topped farm road, and the knot of tension in her stomach tightened. Her breathing became shallow and her palms began to sweat. No longer in the mood for music, she snapped off the CD player. Now the only sounds were the wind, the throaty purr of the engine and the hum of the tires.

  A mile down the blacktop road, Maggie turned right onto a narrow lane. The Viper growled as she reduced speed. Gravel popped beneath the tires and bounced off the undercarriage, but her heart was knocking so hard and fast all she heard was its pulsing beat drumming in her ears.

  Bordering the lane on the left, the Malone home orchard flashed by, five hundred acres of mature peach, plum and pear trees marching in precise rows as far as the eye could see. Absently, Maggie noticed that the seven-hundred-acre tract of virgin forest still bordered the lane on the opposite side, and an amused smile tugged at her mouth.

  That land had been in the Toliver family for more than a hundred years. For at least the last fifty her grandfather, then her father, had tried to buy the property so they could increase the
size of the home orchard, but the Tolivers wouldn't even discuss the matter.

  More than eighty years ago her great-grandmother and namesake, Katherine Margaret Malone, had refused Wendell Toliver's marriage proposal. The Toliver family was still miffed over the supposed insult. People around these parts didn't let go of a grudge easily.

  The thought had barely run through her mind when she rounded a curve and her family home came into view. Maggie stared, equal parts joy and nervous anticipation flooding her.

  The large house sat far back from the lane on a two-acre patch of land dotted with towering oaks and pines and surrounded on three sides by the fruit orchard.

  Heart pounding, Maggie turned into the drive and moments later brought the Viper to a halt in the circular section in front of the house.

  For several minutes she sat motionless, still gripping the steering wheel, staring at the two-story, redbrick house. Her nerves hummed like a plucked guitar string. Tingles raced over her skin, making the fine hairs on her arms stand on end.

  She was swamped with so many different emotions that she could barely breathe—grief and joy, regret and anticipation, sorrow and excitement, all tangled together.

  The shutters and wood trim were still a crisp white. So were the swings and rocking chairs scattered along the porch. The azalea and camellia bushes bordering the wide veranda were perhaps a bit larger, the crepe myrtles at the corners taller, but other than that the house looked exactly the same.

  Which didn't surprise her. Since her great-grandmother had built the house in 1927, what remodeling that had been done had been minor. The sunporch across the back of the house had been enlarged and made into a family room, the kitchen and bathrooms had been updated twice and central air-conditioning had been added.

  Today, however, all the doors and windows stood open to take advantage of the unusually pleasant fall weather. Maggie eyed the screen door, expecting someone—either her mother or Ida Lou Nettles, their housekeeper—to appear at any moment, but no one came, nor were there any sounds from within.