by Diana Palmer
"Careful, honey," he said softly. "You're on my home ground now, and I fight to win."
"Then you'd better start polishing your sword, big man," she replied. "Because this time you're going to have to make the first cut count. Have a nice evening."
She turned and walked over to the next table without batting an eyelash.
CHAPTER FIVE
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Myrna Harden ate nothing that evening. Her interview with Meredith hadn't gone at all the way she'd planned it. She hadn't wanted to make threats, but the younger woman had frightened her. This wasn't the shy young girl who'd once cringed at her cold tone, who'd been beaten and sent packing. No. This new Meredith was an unknown quantity, and when Myrna hadn't been able to ruffle her composure, she'd said things she never meant to say.
She'd wanted to tell Meredith how desperately she'd searched for her, how upset she'd been at her own irrational actions. She hadn't wanted to leave a young, pregnant girl at the mercy of a heartless world, and when Meredith had sent back the small wad of bills she'd given her, along with all the expensive things Cy had tried to give her, she was even more afraid. Meredith's people wouldn't have had much to give her. The young girl, alone and pregnant in a large city, would have been at the mercy of any stranger who wanted to hurt her.
Shocked and horrified at what she'd done, Myrna had hired private detectives, unbeknownst to Cy, in a furious attempt to track Meredith down and provide for her. The thought of her own grandchild being aborted or put up for adoptions by strangers had haunted her for years. Her best efforts hadn't produced one scrap of evidence that would point to Meredith's whereabouts. The girl might have disappeared from the face of the earth.
Myrna gave up trying to eat and pushed the plate away. She was alone tonight, as she frequently was. Cy had business, he'd said. Even his attitude had changed over the years. He was no longer the loving, considerate son he'd once been. Meredith's departure had twisted something inside him, made him hard and uncaring and cruel at times. He blamed the girl, when it was Myrna's manipulating that had caused his pain. She closed her eyes. Meredith had accused her of feeling guilt, and of course, she had. Guilt, shame, anguish, all those things. She felt the weight of her villainy tonight, along with her memories. Meredith's pleading face, Cy's unyielding one, Tony's innocent complicity, came back to torment her. Cy had stayed drunk for days afterward, refusing to leave his room, even to speak to his mother. When he regained his composure, he became a playboy of the worst kind, and for months the business suffered.
He'd weathered his storm, but he wasn't the same. Myrna laughed bitterly. She wasn't the same, either. Her plotting had caused so much tragedy that even the terrible fear that had triggered her actions couldn't justify them. She thought of the child and wished she knew if Meredith had really had it. Was it safe? Was it happy? Was it in the hands of loving people and not sadists who might abuse it? The same thoughts had grieved her all the long years, had given her no peace. She got up from the table, leaving the maid to clear away, and she strolled aimlessly into the living room. A mausoleum, she thought, looking around at the exquisite decor. She was entombed in this luxury, with no real friends and no living relatives except her son. She was alone, as perhaps she deserved to be.
Her long fingers touched a Ming vase on a side table, caressing its beauty, its faded colors. She was like that, she mused. Old and faded and delicate, for all her bluster. Meredith hated her, and it was no more than she deserved. She hadn't really expected to get away with her sins. Nobody did. Payment might take twenty years, but inevitably your trespasses ricocheted right back to you.
Myrna shivered as she felt the approaching storm. Meredith couldn't be bought, she couldn't be intimidated. There was no way to make her leave, and if she stayed, there was every chance that Cy would learn the truth. All of it.
Her eyes closed on a shudder. Her son would hate her when he learned what she'd done.
Restlessly, she walked over to the darkened window and looked out at the cold, bare silhouette of the trees on the horizon. Farther, in the distance, were the lights of the refinery near the Yellowstone, like beacons against the dark sky. She couldn't confess her crime, not yet. She'd just have to bide her time. There was so much Cy didn't know about her past, about the reasons she'd fought so hard for respectability. She'd even married Frank Harden for that, when she didn't love him. The man she'd really loved had gone off to Vietnam shattered by her cold mercenary plotting, and he'd been killed there. That, too, was on Myrna's conscience. She'd sacrificed love all her life in the pursuit of wealth and power, to arm herself with the things that would protect her son from the devastating childhood she'd had to suffer.
Nobody knew, not even the one great-uncle she had left, what she'd had to endure as a little girl because of her mother. No one would know, ever, she swore. She'd made her bed, now she had to lie in it. But what she'd done to Meredith, to Cy, to the man she'd lovedher soul ached with the bruises her actions had dealt it.
But there might still be time to spare herself the humiliation of having Cy know what she'd done. If she begged, she might gain Meredith's compassion and get her out of Billings in time. The damage was done, the child was lost. She was almost certain now that Meredith had placed him or her up for adoption. The only possible course of action was to convince her that revenge was an empty pleasure, to ask her to spare them.
It would scorch her pride, but perhaps it was no less than she deserved. She'd hurt so many lives with her determination to have Cy marry into the proper bloodlines. She laughed mirthlessly. Myrna's fierce need for social acceptance had probably cost her any hope of grandchildren, because Cy refused even to consider marriage anymore. The only grandchild she'd ever had was lost to her, through her own arrogance. She closed her eyes and shivered. Paradise lost, she thought. How cold were the dead dreams of the past. She turned slowly and wandered back into the living room to sit down.
It wasn't late when Meredith left the restaurant. Cy had walked out just after their brief quarrel. How silly of her to expect that he might ask Myrna for the truth, when he'd believed his mother's lies from the beginning.
If she felt any consolation at all, it came from Myrna's uncertainty about the fate of her only grandchild. It was a bitter pleasure at that, because Meredith didn't like hurting peoplenot even people like Myrna. All that pain, all that anguish, and for what? Myrna had wanted Cy to marry a local socialite he'd been dating infrequently, but that had obviously come to nothing. Cy was still single and showed no interest whatsoever in becoming anyone's husband. There was a cold cynicism in him now that Meredith didn't recognize, a hardness that completely overshadowed the sensitivity she remembered. He'd changed, as she had. Only Myrna remained the same: icy and arrogant and certain of getting her own way. But not this time, Meredith told herself. Oh, no, not this time. She wasn't leaving town until Cy had the truth of it, no matter what it took. And she had a few surprises for him before that day came.
Meredith called the office as soon as she reached Mary's house. Working eased her aching heart, made her whole again. She wanted to check with her contacts on the inquiries she was making into Harden Properties. Cy had to have an Achilles' heel. She'd noticed that most of his executives ate at the restaurant where she worked. She smiled at that irony. He'd given her a job at the very best place to eavesdrop on his business. How would he feel, she wondered smugly, when he found out?
During the next few days, she made it her business to be especially courteous to his executives and become friendly with them. That being the case, they were much less guarded in their conversation, assuming that she wouldn't know what they were talking about. But she did. From the information she gleaned, she gathered that one of Cy's directors was quietly working against him, trying to obtain a majority of the stockholders' votes to oust Cy from his own company. She mentioned that over the phone to Don the night she heard this. He agreed to find the director and cultivate him.
Little bits and pieces of
conversation, small tidbits of gossip, fueled her secretive inquiries, provided her with insight into the best avenues to pursue as she sought a foothold in Cy's company.
Cy hadn't been back to the restaurant since they argued, which was something of a relief. Neither had Myrna, and Meredith began to wonder if something was afoot.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Dade had noticed Meredith's special attention to the Harden executives, and she asked her employee into the office late one evening to discuss it.
"You're a good waitress," Mrs. Dade said with a steely look, "but I don't like the attention you're giving Cy Harden's employees. Not only does it not look good, but you're making a spectacle of yourself in front of the other help."
Meredith's eyebrows rose. "I wasn't aware that I was paying them any special attention, Mrs. Dade," she said innocently. "They're very nice tippers" She added that last bit with a calculating look and saw with pleasure that she'd given exactly the impression she meant to.
Mrs. Dade's face relaxed into a smile. "I see."
I thought you would, Meredith thought with silent satisfaction.
"Well, if that's all it is," Mrs. Dade continued. "But you mustn't pay them such obvious attention. It does look bad. And I'd hate to have to let you go."
That would be interesting, she thought. She wondered what Mrs. Dade would do if she fired Meredith and Cy found out. It might be the restaurant manager who was out on the streets looking for work, because Cy didn't like anyone undermining his orders.
"I'll be very careful not to let it happen again, Mrs. Dade," Meredith promised.
The older woman smiled. "Okay. No harm done. I know how much you young girls depend on tips to keep you going. And you are very good at your job, Meredith."
Meredith suppressed the desire to curtsy. "Thank you, Mrs. Dade."
"I'll see you tomorrow morning, then."
Dismissed, Meredith got her light jacket and walked to the bus stop, laughing softly to herself. She wondered what the businesslike Mrs. Dade would say if she knew how her erstwhile employee really was. It was like having a secret identity, and she loved the subterfuge. Of course, it wouldn't do for her to lose sight of the reason she was here, she reminded herself, and the smile faded. The acquisition of those mineral rights was the bottom line, and she had to remember it. If Cy Harden and his mother got their noses bloodied in the fight, that wouldn't bother her in the least. But she was holding the reins of Henry's domestic operation. It wouldn't do to let things get too personal. She had to keep her mind on the objective, without allowing herself to be too much diverted by the past There were hundreds of Tennison International employees whose jobs hinged on the decisions she made. It was an awesome responsibility, and it allowed little leeway for personal revenge.
The wind was picking up, and it felt cool. Meredith closed her eyes, drinking in the feel of the breeze on her face. Until she'd come home to Billings, she hadn't even realized that she'd missed it. Despite the long hours and hard work, this job was like a vacation, a safety valve from the pressure that had jeopardized her health. The aftereffects of pneumonia—the weakness and coughhad already disappeared. She felt stronger by the day, perhaps because she was finding her roots all over again. It felt good to be home, except that she missed Blake so terribly.
The bus was late, and Meredith was the only person waiting for it. When a sleek, light gray car pulled up beside her with the window down, she almost jumped out of her skin. Then she recognized the driver and her teeth clenched.
"You don't need to be out here alone at this hour of night," Cy said curtly. "It's dangerous."
"This is Billings, not Chicago," she said without thinking.
He scowled, and she felt her heart stop, because she'd given away a tidbit of information she'd never meant to divulge.
"Know Chicago, do you?" he asked softly.
She smiled. "I know a lot of cities. Chicago is one, yes." She put her hand on her hip and moved it suggestively. "One city is pretty much like another, if you know which streets are the best pickings."
His eyes flashed as the insinuation penetrated. "And you did?"
She tossed back her long hair and gave him a blank look. "What do you think?"
His face hardened even more. The thought of Meredith having to go on the streets to stay alive at the age of eighteen made him sick, even sicker than the certainty that he'd condemned her to it. He had to block out the images of other hands touching her
"Oh, for God's sake," she said harshly, borrowing one of Henry's favorite euphemisms, "I didn't become a streetwalker!"
He relaxed visibly, and she hated herself for reacting to that horrible expression in his eyes. She should have let him think what he liked.
"Get in," he said, weary with relief. "I'll drive you to the house."
She didn't argue. It was a dark and lonely night, and she'd never liked being on her own after dusk. Usually she wasn't; Mr. Smith was always somewhere nearby.
"Who is he?" he asked as the powerful car purred away from the curb and down the long, wide street.
"He?"
"Don't play games. The man leaving your house that morning."
"His name is Mr. Smith," she said simply.
"Is he your lover?"
She leaned her head back against the seat with a long sigh. "Isn't it a nice evening?" she mused. "I always did love Billings at night."
"You haven't answered me," he said impatiently.
"I won't, either," she replied. She turned toward him, her eyes steady and accusing. "You have no right at all to ask anything about my personal life. Not after what you did to me."
He didn't look at her. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Why didn't you go with him?"
"He works in Chicago," she said. "I work here. For the time being."
His dark eyes narrowed angrily. "Is it serious?"
Her thin shoulders rose and fell. "Not really. He's a friend."
He let out a held breath.
"Why would it matter to you?" she asked, conversationally. "What we did was over long ago."
He looked at her while he stopped for a traffic light, his gaze slow and possessive. "I burn every time I look at you," he said gruffly. "I ache for you. There hasn't been one woman who could block you out of my mind for five minutes."
Her face burned. "That's lust," she said, enunciating the word clearly. "That's all it ever was to you. You wanted me. You couldn't get enough. You'd have come to me from your deathbed if I'd asked you, and we both know it. But it wasn't enough then, and it isn't now."
"I don't remember you having so many moral scruples at the time," he said mockingly.
Her head lowered. "I had none at all. I was in love with you."
He made a sound. The flat statement had shocked him. He'd never really questioned Meredith's motives for the affair. He'd always assumed that she felt the same helpless, raging desire that he did.
"Sure," he said after a minute, his voice harsh. "That's why you fell into bed with Tony."
She tilted her head toward him and smiled coldly. "I went to you a virgin. I was so besotted with you that I couldn't have given myself to another man if I'd been stinking drank."
"Maybe that was how you got him to help you steal the money," he persisted, his eyes calculating.
She laughed. "Tony gave all the money back, though, didn't he?" she asked icily. "And if you'd pushed him hard enough, he'd have told you that we never had either a conspiracy or a relationship."
Cy looked straight at the road. "Tell me, Meredith," he said unexpectedly.
"Tell you what?"
"The truth." He looked at her. "Tell me all of it."
She smiled, unblinking. "I offered it to you six years ago and you didn't want it"
"Now I do."
"Then ask your mother," she said. "Ask Myrna Harden for it."
"You won't get anywhere by trying to drag my mother into this," he said. "We both know she disapproved of you."
"She hated me," she corrected. "I
have Indian relatives, remember? I come from poor people, from ordinary stock. My parents had a very small farm until they died, and I can remember needing shoes and having to wear secondhand ones before my great-aunt and great-uncle took me in. But even afterward, I didn't have social status or money, and that's what your mother wanted for you. I wasn't good enough. It had to be a blue blood."
He turned into the street that led past her great-aunt's house. His face was rigid with pent-up emotions. "Most mothers want what's best for their children."
She thought of Blake and nodded. "Yes. But all mothers don't interfere to the point of making decisions for them. I never would," she added.
He pulled into her driveway and turned off the engine and the lights, turning to look at her in the porch light.
"Why are you still here?" he asked quietly. "If there's a man waiting in Chicago, why haven't you gone back to him?"
She looked into his face, and all the anguish came flooding back, all the rejection, all the love. "I have my reasons," she said.
He slid his arm over the back of the seat, tugging the fabric of his gray jacket closer to his muscular body. He smelled of spice and soap. Meredith remembered how it had felt to lie in his arms with nothing between them except the beads of sweat they generated as they melded together in passion.
He seemed to sense those memories. His voice was husky when he spoke. "The first time was under a tree by the lake on my ranch," he recalled quietly, as if he'd read her mind. "We'd gone riding, but by then, we were both burning with need of each other. I pulled off your top and you let me. I put you down on the grass and you let me. I undressed you, and myself, and I couldn't even wait long enough to arouse you. I had you" his voice deepened as he moved closer "in one long, hard thrust."
She flushed. "Don't!"
"Does it embarrass you?" he asked. He jerked her against him, imprisoning her against his chest. "You were tight and afraid, and when I started convulsing, you asked if I was hurt." He bent and whispered into her ear, then her mouth. "But the second time, I kissed you from head to toe and bit the inside of your thighs and your nipples, and when I took you, you were ready for me. We were all over the ground that second time, thrashing, shaking. We came apart because I was too explosive, and you came after me, sitting over me to finish it. I watched you," he breathed into her, his tongue following the words into the soft darkness.