Every Move She Makes

by Beverly Barton

  “I didn’t mean to offend.” Mark looked down at his feet, obviously a bit embarrassed by Judy’s response to what he had probably thought of as nothing more than a kind offer. “Whatever Regina wants.” Mark opened the door, but before he left he lifted his gaze, nodded to Reed, and then said, “Thank you again, Mrs. Conway, for your hospitality.”

  When Mark walked onto the porch, Regina all but ran after him. Her voice carried from outside, making it easy to hear her comments.

  “Mark, I’m sorry about Mama. You have to understand that she—”

  “It’s all right,” Mark said. “I might not understand your mother, but I admire her. She’s a fine woman. And if you decide to take the day off—”

  “I’d better not. I don’t want to upset Mama. Besides, Reed and I will have plenty of time together now that he’s home. Oh, Mark, I just can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done to help him.”

  Feeling like a voyeur, Reed put his arm around his mother’s waist. “Why don’t I help you clean up the dishes before Briley Joe and I leave?”

  She nodded, glanced quickly at the open front door, and then headed for the kitchen. Briley Joe already had the back door open and was waiting impatiently.

  Judy turned to Reed. “Mark is a fine young man as well as a very good lawyer. Regina’s lucky to be working for him. She has a bright future. And yes, I know she thinks she’s in love with him and he has no idea how she feels. But I do not for one minute believe he’d ever take advantage of her.”

  “Good God, Mama, who are you kidding? He’s a man, isn’t he? She’s a beautiful woman who’s nuts about him.”

  “If Mark ever realizes how Regina feels about him, he could discover that he has similar feelings for her. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that he could ask her to marry him.”

  “The way Regina’s father asked you to marry him?” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he wished them back. In all the years since Regina had been born, they had never once spoken about the circumstances surrounding her birth. He’d been only seven, but he’d known his mother wasn’t married. The kids at school had made ugly comments about Judy, and he’d come home with a bloody nose more than once for defending his mother’s honor.

  Judy slapped him, a resounding strike across his cheek. In all his life, she’d never slapped him. But never before had he ever deserved it more.

  “Mama…God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Why don’t you and Briley Joe just leave? Now.” Judy gathered up dirty dishes from the table and stacked them on the counter.

  “Come on, cuz.” Briley Joe nodded toward their escape route.

  “I had no right to say what I did.” Reed’s hand hovered over his mother’s shoulder. “I just don’t want to see Regina get hurt.”

  “You go on out and have a good time tonight,” Judy said, her voice soft and lightly laced with emotion. “I’ll leave the back porch light on for you.” She wiped her hands off on a dishcloth and turned to face Reed. Her eyes were dry. All her tears were lodged in her heart. He knew his mother. She was as tough as nails, as strong as steel. “You have your key, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got my key.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’ll holler at Regina before we go.”

  By the time he’d said goodbye to his sister, Reed heard Briley Joe racing the motor of his Ford pickup. With a final wave, he headed out the back door. Well, he’d eaten his mama’s home cooking, so that meant one down and two to go—a six-pack and a willing woman were next on his agenda.

  When Reed hopped into the truck, Briley Joe squealed the tires as he raced out of the gravel drive and onto the road leading into town.

  “Hell, man, I thought we’d never get out of there.” Briley Joe shoved his foot down on the accelerator, sending the old truck into greased-lightning speed. “After fifteen years without a woman, you’ve got to be dying for some hot pussy.”

  Reed laughed, the sound mixing with the warm summer wind blowing in through the open windows. Leave it to Briley Joe to hit the nail on the head. Reed laughed again, louder. Damn, but it was good to be free.

  Ella stood outside her mother’s bedroom door. She had never been allowed entrance into Carolyn’s inner sanctum without knocking first and asking permission. She’d been taught respect for other people’s privacy from early childhood. As a little girl she’d felt privileged when she’d been allowed to bring some of her toys to her mother’s suite and play quietly on the floor. Often Carolyn had read to her, and later they’d shared a meal together, just the two of them.

  Viola was always nearby. Then and now. If not in the room with them, then hovering just beyond the door to her connecting room. Of course, Ella understood the necessity of having her mother’s nurse close at hand. Viola had joined the household before Ella’s adoption, so her presence in the mansion actually predated Ella’s. Sometimes she felt guilty for wishing she could have her mother all to herself, especially when she thought about how dependent her mother was on Viola. Carolyn’s spine had been severely damaged after a dreadful horseback riding accident, leaving her paralyzed from the waist down. Only daily exercises, seen to by the devoted Viola, keep atrophy from claiming Carolyn’s leg muscles.

  Aunt Cybil had upset her mother this evening. It wasn’t the first time and certainly wouldn’t be the last. As much as she loved her mother, her loyalties were divided. She didn’t approve of her aunt’s drinking or of the way she occasionally treated Uncle Jeff Henry so cruelly. But Ella loved her mother’s younger sister because Aunt Cybil adored her so unabashedly. Her aunt had been the one who’d bought her her first bra; the one who’d explained about menstruation; the person she’d turned to when she wanted to know the facts of life. Often Ella felt as if she had two mothers, each performing different functions in her life. Carolyn was her moral center, the one who taught her good manners and lectured her on the art of being a lady. But it was Cybil who had made mud pies with her and pushed her high into the sky on her backyard swing and taught her how to drive a car.

  Whenever a family evening ended badly, Ella knew that it was her job to console her mother, while it was her father’s job—when he was in town—to help Uncle Jeff Henry control Cybil. How was it possible, Ella wondered for the millionth time, that two sisters whose physical appearances were almost identical could have personalities that were poles apart?

  She lifted her hand and knocked. Viola opened the door, her expression void of any emotion.

  “She’s been waiting for you,” Viola said. “I’ve changed her into her gown and helped her into bed. I don’t know why she puts up with it. Family or no family—”

  “Why don’t you go on to bed, Viola? I’ll stay with Mother until Daddy returns.”

  Her mother’s nurse huffed. “Very well, Miss Ella. But if you need me—”

  “I’ll call you if I need you.”

  Viola plodded over to Carolyn’s bed, fluffed the pillows around her, and asked if she needed anything. Ella watched how caring and attentive the nurse was, and once again she chastised herself for disliking the woman. Viola Mull looked like Mrs. Potato Head, with thin legs and a rotund body. She kept her gray hair cut in a short, straight bob that made her head look as round as her figure.

  “Ella, darling, is that you?” Carolyn’s voice contained just a hint of weakness, as if she was exceedingly weary.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Come sit with me.” Carolyn patted the bed. “Talk to me until your father comes home.”

  Wearing pale-yellow satin pajamas, Carolyn sat perched in the middle of the massive, canopied mahogany four-poster with white lace trailing down the posts and pooling on the hardwood floor beneath. Pristine white sheets edged with lace perfectly matched the white down coverlet that lay folded at the foot of the bed. White pillows, stacked three deep, rested behind Carolyn’s thin body.

  “Let my hair down for me and brush it, would you?” Carolyn smiled at Ella. Ever since she’d been a child
, Ella would do anything to be rewarded with one of her mother’s smiles. She had spent a lifetime trying to please Carolyn, hoping that in some small way she could repay this lovely woman for having adopted her and giving her a family and a life that others could only dream of having.

  Ella went into the adjoining all-white bathroom and gathered up her mother’s silver brush and comb along with the matching hand mirror. When she sat down on the side of the bed, she laid the items in her lap, then scooted up in the bed so that she sat beside Carolyn. Brushing her mother’s hair had become a ceremony over the years, and to this day she loved the feeling of closeness this simple act generated between them. One at a time, Ella loosened the pins that held Carolyn’s hair in the loose bun. When she removed the last pin, her mother’s shimmery black hair fell down her back, stopping just inches above her waist. Only a few strands of gray glistened when the lamplight struck Carolyn just right.

  Ella began brushing, slowly, carefully, making sure she didn’t pull too hard and cause Carolyn any discomfort. As she had so many times before, Ella marveled at her mother’s beauty: alabaster skin, silky black hair, and striking silver-gray eyes. How often had Ella wished this woman were her biological mother? If she were, then maybe Ella would be prettier. Even though people often mentioned that she actually resembled both her parents, Ella found it hard to believe that she looked anything like the stunning Carolyn. She did have the same color hair, but there the resemblance ended. Carolyn was thin and petite, classically beautiful, and feminine in an old-fashioned, ladylike way.

  Ella sighed as she continued brushing her mother’s hair. When she finished the task—one hundred strokes—she held up the mirror so that Carolyn could inspect herself.

  “Lovely, darling. Thank you.” Carolyn leaned over and kissed Ella’s cheek. “You’re such a good daughter. I’m going to miss having you here with me when you and Dan get married.”

  Ella tensed. She’d been dreading this conversation. As a child her parents had chosen her playmates, and as a teenager they often had picked her dates. She was well aware of the fact that Dan Gilmore’s parents were part of the old-money set in Spring Creek—people whose ancestors had been a part of this town since before the War Between the States. Carolyn had telephoned Dan’s mother shortly after Dan’s divorce had become final last year and insisted on getting their children together.

  “Mother…I…I don’t think Dan and I will be getting married.”

  “Has that young rascal not even hinted about marriage?”

  “He’s hinted, but…I don’t love Dan.”

  Carolyn lifted her eyebrows and rounded her mouth as she sighed. “I see. And is there someone else?”

  “No, there’s no one else.”

  “Dan is quite a catch, you know. If you let him get away, some other lucky girl will be wearing his ring by this time next year. His mother has told me that he wants to get married again. His son needs a mother, and a man in his position needs a suitable wife.”

  “And I’m suitable?”

  “Of course you are.” Carolyn laughed softly. “You have all the right credentials. You’re bright and charming and very successful. And you’re Webb Porter’s daughter—and my only child.”

  Never once had her mother ever told her that she was pretty. She knew she wasn’t, but didn’t mothers lie to their little girls and tell even the ugliest duckling that she was the fairest of them all? Carolyn had told her she was smart, clever, charming, loyal, devoted, and even sweet, but never pretty.

  “I don’t want to marry a man just because he finds me suitable.”

  Carolyn took Ella’s hands in hers and rested them in her lap atop the spotless white sheets. “People marry for many different reasons. I’m sure Dan loves you. Why wouldn’t he? But Ella, my dear child, you’re already thirty and you’ve never been exactly popular with men. It’s not as if there’s some white knight out there waiting to sweep you off your feet.”

  “Daddy swept you off your feet, didn’t he?”

  Carolyn’s smile wavered ever so slightly. “Yes, of course he did. But love like Webb’s and mine doesn’t happen for everyone. What we share is very rare. Naturally, I wish you could find someone like your father, but—”

  “But girls like me don’t end up with hunks like Daddy, do they?”

  “Eleanor Grace Porter! What a thing to say.” Carolyn couldn’t keep the stern look on her face and soon burst into soft giggles. “Webb is a hunk, isn’t he?”

  Ella hugged her mother. “Yes, he is.”

  “What are my two girls giggling about?” Webb stood in the doorway, a wide smile on his face.

  “Let’s not tell him,” Carolyn said. “The man’s ego is already the size of Texas.”

  “Girl talk,” Ella said. “Nothing that concerns you.”

  Ella kissed her mother, retrieved the silver items from atop the coverlet, and placed them on the bedside table. She paused as she approached her father.

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her out into the hall. “Good night, princess.”

  Ella kissed his cheek. “Is Aunt Cybil all right?”

  His smile vanished. “Cybil is her own worst enemy. She’s miserable and she tries to make everyone around her miserable.”

  “I think it would be terribly sad to be married to someone who was in love with someone else.”

  Webb tapped her affectionately on the nose. “You’re too smart for your own good, young lady. You always were.”

  “Mother wants me to marry Dan.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “I want the kind of love you and Mother have—real love.”

  “If you want real love, then don’t marry Dan Gilmore.”

  “Do you mean that, Daddy? Even if—”

  He laid his index finger over her lips. “You wait for the real thing. For that can’t-wait-to-see-him, can’t-live-without-him, want-to-be-with-him-forever kind of love.”

  Ella hugged Webb fiercely. “I love you, Daddy.”

  “And I love you, princess.”

  Reed Conway was back in Spring Creek. Paroled today. The bad boy had returned and was sure to stir up trouble. Big trouble. He was the type who’d be damned and determined to prove his innocence. That couldn’t happen—not now; not ever. There had to be a way to put him back where he belonged—behind bars—before he asked too many questions. Before he dug too deep. If he didn’t live up to the conditions of his parole, if he committed a crime, even some minor infraction of the law, he could be sent back to Donaldson. Think. Think. How can I see to it that Reed makes a fatal mistake? Something serious enough to revoke his parole. He can’t be allowed to stay in Spring Creek long enough to unearth any long-buried secrets.

  Chapter 3

  She had told him her name was Ivy Sims. She’d been divorced twice and was presently between boyfriends. Her only kid, a fifteen-year-old boy, lived with her first husband in Mobile. She was too friendly, too chatty, and very obviously interested in more than sharing a drink at Desperado’s. She’d been skimming her red, claw-like fingernails up and down his arm for the past five minutes, and a couple of times she had none too subtly eyed his crotch. He’d had a hard-on since the minute he got a whiff of her cheap perfume—something she’d probably bought at the Dollar Store. If he had his pick of women, Ivy wouldn’t be his number-one choice. She was probably a good ten years older than he was, and every year showed on her darkly tanned face. The deep age lines of a lifetime smoker edged the corners of her mouth and eyes. And although she had nice, big breasts, she had no hips and a flat ass. But right now, Ivy looked damned good. Like a delicious, greasy hamburger would look to a starving man. She wasn’t prime rib, but horse meat would do if a man was hungry enough. And Reed was hungry. Hell, he was famished.

  “Briley Joe told me you just got out of the pen. Is that right, honey?” Ivy’s full, red lips widened in a sensual smile.

  “That’s right. Just got out today.” Reed lifted his bottle and downed the last drops
of his fourth beer.

  “You sure do look good for a man who’s been behind bars.” She wrapped her hand around the hard, bulging biceps of his right arm. “You must have spent a lot of time in the prison gym.”

  “I take it that you don’t care that I’ve been in Donaldson for the past fifteen years, convicted of murder.”

  “Who’d you kill? Or are you one of those guys who was innocent and did time for a crime you didn’t commit?” She chuckled teasingly.

  “Yeah, that’s me, all right, an innocent man. They sent me away because a jury said I slit my stepfather’s throat.”

  “I had a stepfather,” she said. “Mean son of a bitch. I thought about slitting his throat a time or two, but my old lady divorced him before I ever worked up the courage.”

  “Want another drink?” he asked.

  “I think I’ve had enough for now. Want to dance?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.” He eased off the bar stool, then helped her to her feet and slid his arm around her waist.

  When they reached the crowded dance floor, she turned into his embrace and plastered her body against his. His sex tightened painfully. Ivy’s little outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her short skirt showed off a pair of long, skinny legs, and her cropped top hugged her boobs and exposed her midriff. She was pressed so snugly against him that he could barely breath. They moved awkwardly together, their bodies’ rhythms slower than the shit-kicking music the live band played.

  Ivy nuzzled the side of his neck, then whispered in his ear, “Just how horny are you, honey? Your prick feels like it’s made out of iron.”

  “Horny enough to fuck you for a week and still be hard as a rock,” he admitted.

  She laughed, the sound grating oddly on his nerves. It was a throaty, rough laugh—a vulgar laugh coming from a vulgar woman. Ivy Sims was exactly what he needed tonight. He slid his hand between them and covered one breast. Her nipple jutted into his palm. He kneaded the round, soft flesh covered by nothing but her stretchy black top.