by Francis Ray
Madelyn knew what she meant. Finding Daniel in bed with her when she was ill had seemed natural, right. Curling up against his hard warmth had been instinctive, as if he completed her. She had felt safe in the haven of his strong arms. That kind of feeling could easily become addictive.
“I secretly hoped that when we saw each other again, the seductive pull we always felt for each other would overshadow the past and enable us to work things out.” Felicia bit her lip. “As you saw, it didn’t happen. He didn’t even want to look at me.”
“Maybe your wealth and background intimidate him?”
Abruptly the tears stopped. Felicia’s shoulders in an elegant Chanel suit, this one in butterscotch, snapped back. She pinned Madelyn with a look. “John Henry’s background to him is just as impressive as mine is to me. He’s one of the proudest men I know. His master’s thesis on the education of Native American children was published in several journals across the country.”
“What!”
“He finished near the top of his class in his undergraduate and graduate studies at Oklahoma State University,” Felicia said proudly.
“But the way he was dressed?” Madelyn questioned.
“Clothes have never meant that much to John Henry. At least he didn’t try to fake you out the way he did my parents once we arrived back in Boston with Daniel.” Felicia shook her head at the memory. “My father was laying it on a little thick about what we had and how grateful John Henry should be until John Henry had enough. I thought my mother would faint when he offered to buy her for his uncle.
“John Henry calmly related that his uncle’s wife was toothless and unable to soften the animal hides for clothes and moccasins by chewing them. My mother, on the other hand, had an excellent pair of teeth.”
Madelyn burst out laughing.
“My mother, who never drank anything stronger than sherry in her life, had to have a double brandy.” Felicia dabbed another tear. “My father almost beat her to the bar when John Henry continued by saying since my father was so prosperous and the front lawn was so big, surely he wouldn’t mind his relatives moving their many tepees there.”
Madelyn erupted into another fit of laughter. “He doesn’t like to be stereotyped. I know how he feels,” she said. Perhaps she had misjudged him. On seeing Felicia’s tears as she rushed into her bedroom, Madelyn had thought the worst of John Henry. Now it appeared she may have been too hasty in her judgment.
“That—and he knows it makes me crazy. The only thing he can do to make me crazier is to slurp his soup.”
Fighting the smile tugging at her lips, Madelyn said, “Eventually your parents must have caught on.”
“That only made it worse,” Felicia said. “John Henry has a way of causing you to feel inferior with a grunt.”
“I noticed,” Madelyn said, leaning back in her chair. “No wonder Daniel is the way he is.”
“Dominique is the same way,” Felicia said with maternal pride, brushing away the last traces of tears from her cheeks.
Madelyn absorbed the information. No one in the Falcon family could be pushed, led, or prodded. Strong willed, a tad shy of arrogant, and as bold as the devil—intelligent and wily enough to give you a head start and then beat you to the finish line. Considering her family possessed some of those same attributes, Madelyn knew she was going to have her hands full raising her child.
Her hand cupped her still flat abdomen. “I’d say I have my work cut out for me.”
Felicia finally smiled. “You won’t be bored, that’s for sure.”
“Then I’m going to need all the help I can get.” Madelyn’s face became shadowed for a moment. “I don’t know if my baby’s father will be around much, but I’d like to be able to count on his paternal grandmother.”
“Daniel cares about you and the baby,” Felicia defended.
“He wants me, but a lasting relationship has to be built on more than lust.” Madelyn groaned and closed her eyes for a few seconds. “I can’t believe I’m talking to you this way.”
“I assure you, I’ve heard the word ‘lust’ before,” Felicia said.
Crossing her arms across her chest, Madelyn studied the other woman’s flawless features. “It’s because you don’t look old enough to be his mother.”
“It’s in the genes. My mother doesn’t look a day over sixty and she’s pushing seventy-five. Dominique still gets carded sometimes unless she has on makeup, then watch out,” Felicia told her.
Madelyn hung on to the word “parents.” “Your parents are still living.”
Felicia nodded. “So are John Henry’s. So you see the baby will have a lot of people to spoil it.”
“But not the father,” Madelyn said softly. “And before you start on me about Daniel, I suggest you set your own house in order.”
Sadness crossed the older woman’s face. “There is nothing I can do.”
“Bull,” Madelyn said. “You’ve been handing out advice to me; take some for yourself. If you really are afraid he’s going to ask for a divorce you’ll have to act fast and get him back.”
Tears crested in Felicia’s black eyes again. Madelyn wasn’t having it. “Crying won’t get him back.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Felicia wailed.
Madelyn stood and took the other woman by the arm. “We’ll think of something. In the meantime we’re going to stop all this moping and crying and do something just for us.”
Felicia resisted every step into the bedroom. “I’m sorry, Madelyn, but going to a day spa would only remind me of John Henry’s and my breakup.”
“Who said anything about a spa?” Freeing the woman, Madelyn pulled a pair of faded sweatpants from the closet. “We’re going to bake bread.”
* * *
Most of the men Daniel knew relaxed on the golf course or in the gym. Daniel liked riding. There was something about a powerful animal beneath him, the elements around him, and the sky over his head that always calmed him.
Until today. He was worried about his mother. Although John Henry hadn’t mentioned anything more about the divorce since he tossed the news out an hour ago, he wasn’t given to making idle statements.
Slowing Wind Dancer, his Arabian stallion, to a walk, Daniel glanced over at his father. John Henry was an excellent rider. In fact, he had taught Daniel to ride when he was no older than three.
Whenever his father had taken off, he had always said good-bye to Daniel and Dominique and called every day. They had felt confused more than anything. They couldn’t understand why their parents lived apart so much. When they were growing up, divorce hadn’t been as prevalent among their friends.
“Dad, are you sure you should ask for a divorce?”
“The dead branch on a tree serves no purpose,” his father answered.
This time Daniel knew his father wasn’t being obtuse, but conversing in the wisdom of his grandfather. “What if the branch only gives the appearance of being dead? Maybe it just needs a little care.”
“It’s a wise man who will choose defeat over dishonor and the loss of an ear,” John Henry said.
Daniel pulled his horse up abruptly. A Muscogee adulterer in the old days lost an ear. “You want to marry another woman.”
John Henry solemnly faced his son. “One has asked.”
Daniel hung his head. “You’ll break her heart.”
“I would never hurt Ann. How can you think that I would hurt any woman?” his father asked indignantly.
Daniel’s head shot up. “I’m not talking about your other woman. I’m talking about my mother.”
Sharp black eyes centered on Daniel. “Breaking your mother’s heart is impossible. I embarrass her just by entering a room.”
“Whose fault is that?” Daniel gestured toward his father. “Dominique and I took you shopping when we visited you for part of the Christmas holidays, and today you show up looking like you don’t have two cents to your name.”
His face impassive, John Henry remained silent for a
long time, then he lifted a dark brow. “Who says I do?”
“All right, Dad, have it your way.”
“I fully intend to.” He gathered the reins securely in his gloved hands. “Now are we going to ride or talk?” he asked, his horse always a full length ahead.
* * *
“I’m sure she’s all right,” John Henry repeated for the second time in as many minutes as he sat beside Daniel, who was speeding back to Madelyn’s apartment later that afternoon.
“Then why does she keep telling me she can’t talk every time I call?” Daniel asked.
His father propped his elbow on the door. “Probably because she’s busy.”
“Doing what?” Daniel asked. “She’s supposed to be resting.”
John Henry sent his son a sharp glare. “You think there’s another man over there?”
“If there is, there’s nothing going on,” Daniel said without a doubt in his mind. Madelyn was honest and up-front. He might learn slowly, but when he did, he didn’t forget.
“So the baby she’s carrying is yours,” came the calm statement.
Daniel’s gaze cut to his father. “How—”
“Watch the road.”
Swerving to miss a Honda, Daniel gave his attention back to driving. Luckily they were near his freeway exit. “How did you know?”
“Prenatal vitamins on the kitchen table,” John Henry said succinctly.
Daniel shook his head. He should have remembered very little got by his father—including the little dents and door dings he used to get on his father’s car. No matter how far away Daniel parked, some nut would always park beside him and always leave his calling card on the side of the car.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” he questioned, turning into Madelyn’s complex.
“I wasn’t sure how much you were involved.”
“The baby is mine,” Daniel admitted, the realization still having the power to make him feel scared and proud at the same time. Parking, Daniel cut the motor and frowned on seeing his father settling back against the leather seat.
“Dad, come inside.”
“Neither one of them probably wants to see me,” his father answered. “I came only because I knew you were worried.”
“Then come all the way,” Daniel said softly. “Madelyn means a lot to me, and I’d like for both of you to get to know each other better.”
John Henry hesitated only a moment, then opened his door. “When is the wedding?”
Halfway out the door, Daniel paused. “We haven’t talked about it.”
“Don’t wait as long as I did. Felicia’s parents never forgave me for her not having a big society wedding,” his father said, meeting Daniel at the front of the truck. Silently they walked the rest of the distance together.
Daniel had a great deal more to worry about than Madelyn not having a big wedding. When her family found out she was pregnant, all hell was going to break loose. Once he could stand from the beating her brothers were going to give him, he’d be in front of some minister so fast, his loose teeth would probably rattle.
Frowning, he rang the doorbell. Somehow they’d have to understand he cared for her and the baby, but marriage wasn’t in his plans. He—
His thoughts stumbled to a halt as his mother answered the door. The always perfectly groomed Felicia had flour on her face, more flour and some pasty-looking substance on the oversized black T-shirt with the Houston Sonics emblazoned on the front, flour-coated sweatpants—and ugly, shocking green knitted booties on her feet.
His mother’s eyes widened. Her gaze jerked to John Henry, and Daniel knew if he didn’t do something, the door would slam in their faces. “Hi, Mother. Something smells good.”
Putting his arm around her shoulders, he led her back inside, giving her a little squeeze to bolster her courage. “I-I’ll go get changed.”
“Not until you ice these cinnamon rolls,” called Madelyn.
His arm still around his mother, Daniel walked to the kitchen. Madelyn, in a T-shirt with the Dallas Stars hockey team logo on the front, jeans, and another pair of ugly booties, had apparently also been cooking.
But she was considerably cleaner. Dishes were stacked in both sides of the sink, and the counter was lined with various types of tempting-smelling baked bread.
“I missed lunch. Mind if I have a croissant?” Daniel asked, already reaching for one.
“Help yourself,” Madelyn said dryly, bagging a loaf of foil-wrapped bread.
“This is good.” Mid-chew, he frowned, then swallowed. “I hope you didn’t overdo it.”
Madelyn rolled her eyes as if she had expected the comment. “Felicia did most of the work.”
“I’m sure he can tell,” his mother mumbled, her head bowed.
“Would you like a croissant, Mr. Falcon?” Madelyn asked, feeling sorry for Felicia. She had hoped he’d stay away until Felicia had her courage up.
“Call me John Henry. If you don’t mind, I think I’d rather have one of the cinnamon rolls once Felicia finishes icing them.” Pulling out a chair, John Henry took a seat.
Madelyn could tell Felicia wanted to run for it and quickly handed her the bowl of cream cheese icing. “Here you go. I’ll fix some coffee.”
Daniel was already reaching for the pot. “I’ll do it. You sit down.”
She sat. “You’re as bossy as Kane.”
“Thank you,” he said. Turning, he missed the face Madelyn made at his back.
His father didn’t. She tensed until he smiled. “I see you are feeling better.”
“Much,” she said, hoping Felicia wasn’t having too much trouble with the icing. Madelyn could certainly see how she had burnt John Henry’s food—she was lost in the kitchen.
A glass of milk plopped in front of her. She shot a glance at Daniel, but he was already pulling mugs from the cabinet. She could only hope his father didn’t catch on. John Henry and she were still unsure and circling each other.
“I’ll get you a plate for your roll,” Madelyn said.
A light touch of John Henry’s calloused hand stopped her from rising. “Please, let her do it,” he said softly. Louder, he asked Daniel to take a seat as well.
John Henry’s gaze was locked on Felicia so fiercely that Madelyn didn’t see why there wasn’t a hole in the back of the other woman’s T-shirt. The antagonism and animosity she expected him to display wasn’t there. Instead there was a watchfulness that made Madelyn uneasy. She glanced at Daniel, but he was also watching his mother.
More than the icing of cinnamon rolls was at stake here. Madelyn tried to think of one thing that would get Felicia moving to face her husband. To her delight, Felicia took care of the situation herself.
“How many do you want, John Henry?” Felicia asked, her voice slightly shaky, her back still to him.
“Two. I missed lunch, too,” he said.
After placing a platter of the iced pastries on the table, she handed him a dessert plate. He took the stoneware, and they stared at each other a long time before he said, “If these aren’t burnt on the bottom, you didn’t help cook them.”
Felicia burst into tears and ran from the kitchen. Madelyn jumped up to go after her.
“Please, let me.” John Henry turned to his son. “It seems you may have been right. Excuse me.”
Madelyn watched him leave, sadness in her eyes. “I guess you were right, Daniel. Sometimes love isn’t enough.”
* * *
Felicia heard Madelyn’s bedroom door open and close but didn’t look up. She was too busy fighting another losing battle with tears. “I’m sorry, Madelyn. I just couldn’t stand there and listen to him laugh at me.”
“I’ve never laughed at you.”
Everything within her stilled at the sound of John Henry’s deep, rich voice. For him to see her so disheveled, and now in tears, completed her humiliation. She would have run into the bathroom and locked the door if getting up wouldn’t have offered him another mortifying look at her.
Worn cowboy boots and faded jeans came into her line of downcast vision. “Why are you on the floor?”
The question seemed easier to answer than to think about her embarrassment. “I didn’t want to mess up the bed or the chair.”
“Felicia, always worrying about what is proper, about being clean and neat.”
Instinctively she reacted to the slight censure in his deep voice. “All of us can’t thumb our nose at convention the way you do.”
“There’s a difference between thumbing your nose and living by your standards and not someone else’s.”
She opened her mouth for a comeback, but out of the corner of her eye she saw him easing down on the floor beside her. Her thoughts scattered.
Pressing his broad back against the foot of the bed, John Henry stretched his long, muscular legs in front of him. Although they weren’t touching, he was close enough for her to catch a faint hint of his Aramis cologne. The scent on him always made her want to lick her lips, then lick him … all over.
She chastised herself, but it did little good. John Henry had always fascinated her.
His muscular strength and size were never more in evidence. She’d always liked the way their bodies complemented each other: her slimness to his brawn. It was only later in their marriage that it intimidated her. Madelyn had it backwards—John Henry intimidated her. He was a man who didn’t bend to her will.
Self-consciously, she wiped her cheek and felt the stickiness of the icing. Her desperation to flee increased. She moistened dry lips. “If you’ll leave, I’d like to get dressed.”
John Henry crossed his booted feet at the ankles and braced his large hand on the carpet a tiny inch away from her hip. “You and Madelyn still have the dishes to do, unless you plan to let her do them by herself.”
“Of course not,” Felicia snapped, hurt that he thought she was that inconsiderate.
“Then why change?” He nodded toward the Chanel suit hanging on the back of the closet door. “I don’t think that was made to wash dishes in.”
Felicia didn’t know how to respond. She couldn’t very well explain to him that she felt more in control in her own clothes. She never wanted him to see her at less than her best.