Kane

by Jennifer Blake

  The vague answer might mean something or nothing at all, Regina thought. Certainly, it didn’t suggest any conversational leads. Trying valiantly to keep something going, she said, “How did you get started writing romance novels?”

  “I loved reading romantic fantasies, so why not write them? My start was with historical romance, and I still do one now and again when the spirit moves me, but I concentrate on contemporary women’s fiction.”

  “Which is?”

  “Stories about male-female relationships today, women in jeopardy, women who must make major decisions that will affect the direction of their lives and of others around them. Actually, it means any story that has validity for the lives of women.”

  “You write modern stories, but live in an old house?”

  April laughed. “It’s the romantic in me, I guess. I like to think I must have lived in another time, when candlelight and long dresses were standard fare.”

  “Past lives?”

  “It’s fascinating to think about, don’t you agree?”

  It was another evasion, polite, not at all confrontational, but effective. Regina thought she should be taking lessons. Or better yet, she ought to be delving for information Gervis could use instead of exercising her own curiosity. “I suppose people come to you with all sorts of stories, all kinds of family legends and secrets?”

  “Sometimes.” April’s clear, golden brown gaze was a little too knowing for comfort.

  “Do you ever use any of them?”

  “Hardly ever. Truth is supposed to be stranger than fiction, but fiction is a great deal safer in these litigious times.”

  Regina couldn’t help smiling at the droll expression on her face. “I expect so.”

  April was still studying her. In curious tones, she said, “You had something in mind?”

  “Not really. I guess I was just thinking of this business with Kane’s grandfather. The suit is one thing, of course, but with his family having the funeral home for so long, it seems lots of interesting things must have occurred there in the past.”

  “If they did, no one will ever know. Mr. Lewis likes to tell stories about the old days, but would never think of gossiping about his friends and neighbors.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Regina said reflectively.

  “And yet you wonder, yes? Well, so do I. Actually, I seem to have heard something about a woman who died a suicide, but when they removed her wedding band, the initials inside were not her husband’s. Now that kind of thing might make a story if I dared use it.”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  April tilted her head so her long, sun-streaked brown hair fell over one shoulder in a shimmering slide. “Kane wouldn’t like it.”

  “Kane? What would he have to say about it?”

  A rich chuckle broke from April. “A great deal, I imagine, and all of it lethal. He’s very protective of his grandfather, you know. Especially now.”

  “Yes, I suppose,” Regina agreed. “It’s very caring of him, really, very—”

  “Sweet? That’s Sugar Kane.” The look in the other woman’s eyes was soft.

  “You’re the second person who’s called him that,” Regina said dryly, since the words were not exactly what she’d had in mind.

  “Actually, I was the first. I gave him the moniker back in high school.”

  “Did you?” She let her tone carry the appeal for more.

  April lifted a silk-clad shoulder in a resigned gesture. “Kane was something else when we were kids. He and his uncle worked their old place out here on the lake, raising soybeans, cotton, and enough sugarcane to make syrup every fall. All that farm labor gave him muscles and a tan that were a sight to behold, not that he ever gave it a thought. He and Luke were a pair, always up to some outrageous prank and dragging Roan into it half the time. That was before they all discovered girls—or the girls discovered them. They turned into rebels then, totally cool in a laidback kind of way. They were the most popular guys in town, had every female for miles around ready to swoon.”

  Regina could imagine it. Too well, in fact. As April paused, she said, “Go on.”

  “They were special, the three of them. Never took advantage of a girl, but seldom refused what was offered—and you couldn’t pry a word out of them about it afterward. They never said a word they didn’t mean or promised what they couldn’t deliver. Kane, especially, had a Galahad streak a mile wide. He was always the first to offer a pretty girl his coat in cold weather, the first to tell a boy who got out of line to back off or put an end to teasing that got too raw. He’s the kind who would have ridden off to the Crusades in another era.”

  “Somehow,” Regina said dryly, “the knights of the Crusades never struck me as sweet.”

  “You’ve got me there,” April agreed, “though I’m sure some of them must have been. What I’m thinking of is that image of chivalry and daring. Anyway. Where was I?”

  “The nickname?”

  “Right. In our senior class was a banker’s daughter, a poor girl almost six feet tall, plagued by buckteeth and hair like a Brillo pad. She never had a date, never had a boyfriend. Her father tried to help her by hiring the son of a family friend to take her to the senior dance. He took her all right, but left her sitting against the wall while he had himself a good time. Everybody knew, of course, and some were laughing about it. The girl was near tears. Then Kane stepped up and led her out onto the floor. He slow danced with her through the most romantic piece of the evening, like Prince Charming with Cinderella. She was absolutely dazzled.”

  “What about his date?” Regina asked with an arched brow.

  April laughed, a warm, easy sound. “That was me, and I didn’t mind at all, mainly because I was dancing with Luke at the time. But I couldn’t help watching Kane and the banker’s daughter. When Luke noticed, I said to him, ‘Isn’t that the nicest thing for Kane to do? He’s sweet as sugar, don’t you think?’ Of course, Luke being Luke, that was all it took.”

  “He thought it was funny?” Regina couldn’t keep the censure from her tone. She rather liked the idea of Kane rescuing the contemporary equivalent of a damsel in distress. Perhaps because the few times she had needed a Galahad there had been none available.

  “He thought it was priceless,” the romance author corrected with a reminiscent smile. “He also thought it was wonderfully descriptive, completely appropriate—and guaranteed to get Kane’s goat. Which it did. Still does, for that matter. You’d have to know Luke to understand. He’s every bit as complex as Kane, in his own way.”

  “You seem to think a lot of them both.” Regina swirled what was left of her wine, watching it with exaggerated attention.

  “That’s one way to put it. We all grew up together, dated together, ran around all over the country together.”

  A choked feeling that might almost have been jealousy moved through Regina. What must it have been like to be part of such a close-knit group, to have enjoyed the kind of uncontrolled freedom that the woman beside her seemed to be suggesting. In careful mildness, she said, “But you didn’t wind up married to either of them.”

  April gave a rueful shake of her head that made her hair sway down her back. “Francie came along and took Kane out of the game. Then something happened to Luke, a terrible accident. As for me, well, I was stupid. But it’s all done now, and there’s no use worrying about it.”

  “By Kane being out of the game, you mean…?”

  “Engaged. To Francie. She was something else, that girl, a hellion on heels.” April stared at Regina an instant, her gaze intent. “I probably shouldn’t mention it, but you’re the first woman Kane has shown any interest in since.”

  “I think you may have the wrong idea. We hardly know each other.” She could have kicked herself the instant the words left her mouth. What was the matter with her that integrity kept getting in her way. Unless it was the examples around her?

  “That’s not how I heard it from Vivian Benedict.”

 
The sparkle in April’s eyes was a strong indication she’d heard the tale of the coffin. The last thing Regina wanted was to explain the details. She said hastily, “Vivian also mentioned Francie and what she did to Kane.”

  “Did she now? That’s interesting,” April said. “I must not be the only one grateful that Kane’s waking up and dragging himself away from the law books. So you know all about the fake pregnancy scheme?”

  “Apparently, there was every possibility his fiancée could have been pregnant.”

  “Well, yes. But to tell a man he is going to lose his child in one breath and demand money in the other—particularly a man like Kane who places such value on family—doesn’t that strike you as cruel?”

  Regina put a hand to the amber pendant at her throat. “Yes, certainly, and also incredibly stupid. She should have known he wouldn’t leave it at that, that he would be concerned enough to follow through and discover if everything turned out all right.”

  “See there!” April exclaimed in triumph. “I knew you had to be special. You only just met Kane, but you see and understand the kind of caring, responsible person he is far better than Francie who had known him most of his life.”

  “What I see,” Regina said with a wry twist of her lips, “is his tenacity, the iron-hard determination to see things to their bitter end.”

  April frowned, but made no answer, for they were joined by a would-be writer who wanted to speak to her. Left temporarily to her own devices, Regina glanced around her, noticed Lewis Crompton still holding court out on the back gallery. Since she felt a bit in the way and enough time had passed that it wouldn’t look quite as if she was reaching for a lifeline, she moved purposefully in that direction.

  Kane’s grandfather saw her coming. With a wide gesture of one arm, he welcomed her into the circle that had formed around him, a bit of courtesy for which she was supremely grateful.

  There was an older woman standing at his side, one with a lithe and upright figure, magnolia-like skin, and silvery hair brushed back from her face in gentle waves. She was introduced as Elise Pickhart, and Regina realized this was the lady who occupied Mr. Lewis’s lunch hour every Tuesday.

  It was fascinating to see the older couple together. They interacted with each other in a seamless duet of small touches and smiles to direct attention or make a point. Miss Elise finished Mr. Lewis’s sentences for him and supplied missing words, while he deferred to her opinions and introduced topics on which he seemed to know she would shine. It was as if they had long been married, Regina thought, and wondered why they were not.

  Not that it was any of her business. Wondering about the people of Turn-Coupe and the lake was counterproductive. The last thing she needed was to get involved.

  Still, as she stood there, watching the play of warmth and affection across Lewis Crompton’s face, seeing the esteem in which he appeared to be held by the people around him, she was swamped with guilt. To all appearances, he was a genuinely good man, one she liked very much. He had been everything that was kind and helpful to her. In return, she was going to betray him, to search out the scandals and secrets of his life and expose them for all to see.

  She hated it, she really did.

  The only thing she hated worse was the growing fear that he would prove to have no shame or disgrace in his blameless life, no secrets she could expose. What in the name of heaven was she going to do then?

  8

  Kane, returning from setting up the fireworks beside the lake, watched the emotions that chased themselves across Regina’s expressive face and wondered what she was thinking. Something had disturbed her, he thought, for she had been smiling with every sign of pleasure just moments before. There was no cause that he could see. She was with his grandfather, and Pops could be depended on to keep the conversation running in smooth and well-worn channels, with only pleasant surprises along the way.

  She was holding her own among his friends and relatives, he’d give her that much. She and April had seemed to be getting along with amazing ease just moments ago, talking ninety-to-nothing with their heads together in the secretive way women had that could drive men to drink. He’d give a lot to know what they’d been discussing.

  Regina sent a quick look his way, then glanced away again. In that brief instant, he thought he saw active fear in her eyes.

  He whispered a curse. In spite of her attempts to be forthright and brassy, she was always anxious when around him. That she was not that way toward other people, other men, made his hackles rise. He wasn’t used to feeling like some kind of fiend who frightened women.

  So he had held her, had used his superior strength to force her to remain beside him, had kissed her in a coffin. He’d goaded her, subjected her to interrogation, yes, but all in a good cause. It had been a stupid miscalculation, but hardly criminal. He hadn’t hurt her or anything near it. Besides, he’d apologized, hadn’t he? And she had seemed none the worse.

  Why, then, did he still feel so bad about it?

  Yes, and why did he keep wondering if it was the coffin or the kiss that had upset her that first day? So much so that he could think of nothing except trying the second part of it again just to see.

  It was also possible that was a self-serving excuse of gigantic proportions. He couldn’t get the luscious softness of her mouth out of his mind, or its sweet, delicate flavor. Just looking at the coral curves of her lips, like some rare and succulent fruit, made him feel reckless with repressed need.

  He wondered if she had any idea of what she was doing to him. And if she was being so elusive just to keep him off balance.

  On the other hand, it seemed she might be a little more approachable tonight. He wished he knew why, as well as just how far it went. The urge to find out was irresistible. Before he could have second thoughts, he moved toward her.

  “How are you making out?” he asked, leaning close enough to inhale her soft, feminine scent. “Had about enough of the Clan Benedict?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” she answered, shifting to put a small space between them, not looking at him.

  “We can be a little overpowering in large doses, or so I’m told.” The racket and family habit of talking back and forth across each other in several different conversations at once sometimes got to him, if the truth was known.

  “I’m fine. I rather like watching everybody, especially the children.”

  Kane thought she meant it, which surprised him. Benedict brats were fairly well behaved as far as manners went, but were always exhaustingly healthy, which meant they had more energy than they knew what to do with. Everyone would suspect they were sick if they weren’t chasing each other up and down the galleries or hanging by their heels from the stair railing.

  “I expect you could use a break anyway,” he suggested. “Have you seen the house and grounds? If not, I could give you the grand tour.”

  “I haven’t, no.” She looked up finally to meet his gaze.

  “You’re not wearing your contacts.” He spoke without thinking, startled out of his normal prudence. It was as if she had removed protective shields, twin layers of hard, sea green plastic that had prevented anyone from seeing what she was inside. The change was startling, much more so than he’d imagined from his brief glimpse before. It also affected him more drastically than he would have dreamed.

  “They made my eyes uncomfortable,” she said. “Something to do with the extra humidity, possibly.”

  “I like it,” he said simply.

  Her slow smile was a sight to behold. It was also the first time she had directed such unshadowed warmth in his direction. He needed no other encouragement, which was a good thing, he thought, since it was all he was likely to get.

  Kane made their excuses, not that anyone noticed. Then he took the wine Regina had hardly touched from her and set it aside. Tucking her fingers into the crook of his arm, he led her from the room.

  The house was old and historical and it looked it. The draperies in the living room were
heavy, faded silk and original to the house though astonishingly well preserved due to decades of good care and an outdoor kitchen that prevented the deterioration caused by cooking fumes. The floors had been cut from heart pine in random-width planks, the walls carried the original plaster in most rooms, and most of the furnishings were original, if ramshackle, antiques.

  Outside, the hand pump was still in place in the cistern house, the summerhouse-type structure built above the underground cistern. The covered “whistler’s walk” between the dining room and old outdoor kitchen, so-called because footmen who carried the food from the kitchen in the old days were required to whistle to make certain they didn’t sample it on the way, was still usable, one of the few left in the state. An oyster-shell path led down to the lake where a gazebo covered by the rampant vines of wisteria provided a cool place to sit during the day and a hidden trysting spot at night.

  Kane felt a couple of drops of fine rain as they paused outside the gazebo. He stepped inside, pulling Regina with him. She came readily enough, but stopped near the door.

  Night had fallen with semitropic suddenness. The music from the house, a slow blues piece, made a rich, lulling background for the other evening noises: the sweeping sigh of the wind in the trees, the whirring of insects, and the insistent calls of frogs anxious for spawning time promised by the rain. The house lights penetrated the lattice of the gazebo and the mass of vines overhead in errant gleams. A windblown leaf rustled across the cypress floor, while the ripple and slap of waves and forlorn call of a waterbird could be heard from the direction of the lake.

  Kane stood a moment, letting the thundery coolness of the night seep into him. If he breathed deep enough, he discovered, he could catch the faint perfume caught in the shining, copper-bright hair of the woman beside him, brought out by the dampness. He should fight the enticement, he knew. He didn’t want to, lacked the fortitude, right this minute, even to try.