The Ramseys Boxed Set

by Altonya Washington

  Daniel Simon sniffled and straightened. From his towering height he eyed Marc closely before nodding and accepting the hand the younger man offered.

  Josephine stood on her toes and kissed her father’s jaw. She took Marc’s arm and led him out of the foyer.

  “I’m going.”

  “Marcus-”

  “Shh…” He kissed her cheek, lingering there to inhale her scent. “You need this time with your family.”

  “Your proposal,” Josephine’s lashes fluttered down to shield her gaze. “The timing, maybe it’s a sign that we shouldn’t-”

  “Hey?” He cupped her face. “You wanna know what really made me come down here today? A visit from a friend of my dad’s.” He grinned at the confusion on her face. “He told West how lucky he was to have Briselle- what a catch she was and how the right woman was his greatest asset.” Marc’s thumbs caressed her cheeks and he nuzzled her nose with his own. “You’re everything I could want in a wife, Josie.”

  She ignored her heart thudding in her ears. “You don’t even know me.”

  Marc’s smile was slyness and seduction in one. “You can be sure I intend to change all that.”

  ***

  Carmen peeked past the opened door and bit her lip before knocking. She heard Damon’s ever-deepening voice when he granted entrance. She hesitated a second longer before crossing the threshold.

  “Hey!” Damon laughed while reaching over to silence Chubby Checker’s “Party Time” blaring from the radio on his desk. “What’s goin’ on?” He met his sister in the middle of his room for hugs and kisses.

  “I’ve been by your room four times this week and you’re never here.” Carmen smiled and savored the hug. “Everyone’s so busy…”

  “Very.” Damon’s dark eyes grew close as they were filled with curiosity. “What’s wrong Carm?”

  “What are your intentions for Catrina Jeffries?” Carmen moved on and took a seat on the edge of the bed. “She’s a friend of mine and I-um…I don’t like the way you’ve been treating her.”

  Damon twisted his sneaker to one side and looked like the picture of uncertainty. “How do you know I-”

  “Catrina let it slip one day about this boy.” Carmen braced elbows on the thighs of her jeans and shrugged. “She said his name was Damon.”

  “Does she know I’m a Ramsey?” He settled slowly onto his desk chair.

  Carmen shook her head, smirking when her brother sighed his relief.

  “Carm I can explain why-”

  “You don’t have to. I get it. I just don’t see why you won’t…make your presence more known.”

  “’Cause sooner or later someone’s gonna tell her who I am.” His expression darkened. “I’m not ready to do it myself yet.”

  “And have you thought about Catrina? What’s she’s ready for?”

  Damon was silent but his eyes sparkled then with curiosity.

  “She’s a pretty girl. Very pretty. Lots of boys drop by her dad’s restaurant for a glass of water just so they can see her. She’s not gonna ignore all that attention for long.” Carmen watched him walk over to stare out the windows and decided to finish her say. “Especially not when one of those boys is Houston Ramsey.”

  The curtains billowed when Damon whirled around to gawk at his sister.

  “He’s been visiting Jeffries- a lot. Catrina was in Atlanta at the time, but she says her mother’s drivin’ her crazy trying to get her to call him.”

  Damon shrugged and leaned back on the window sill. “Well if her mother’s drivin’ her crazy to call, she must not be interested.”

  “And how long do you think that’s gonna last? Especially when you’re so distant? It’s not fair to her Damon.” Carmen stood.

  “You should ask yourself if hiding who you are is more important than losing her to some other boy- Houston.”

  The door closed behind Carmen and Damon considered her parting words. It didn’t take long for a confident smile to strike his double dimples. Thinking of his awkward older brother was reason enough to be amused. Houston would never pull a girl like Catrina. She was intelligent, ambitious, sexy as…

  He eased one hand inside the back pocket of his jeans and clenched a fist with the other to beat his desk. No, Houston would never manage that.

  ***

  “…And you can enjoy it all in the privacy of our bedroom.”

  “Mmmm…after my day that sounds like heaven,” Quentin smiled at the sound of his wife’s voice through the phone line. Marcella had been in the midst of sharing her plans for their evening.

  “And all this because I gave them a second chance,” Quent raved once Marcella told him his favorite meal was hot and ready.

  Marcella’s laughter was soft through the line. “Not only because of that. I can’t even begin to list all the reasons why I love you so.”

  “And I love you Marcy.”

  “Hurry home, Quen.”

  Quentin tapped the receiver to his chin once the connection broke. Satisfaction lent a more dashing element to his already handsome features. Leaning back in his gray leather desk chair, he prayed the makings of a successful and respectable Ramsey future were in store.

  He was on his way out the door when his wife’s call came through. Once again, he reached for his briefcase, but detoured outside the office and decided to drop in on his sons. He’d felt a stab of pride when one of his executive staff told him the boys had been working late hours to ready some of the youth division.

  Quentin knew Marcus felt it was a slap in the face being saddled with working there instead of something more integral to Ramsey. In spite of Marc’s hard work as of late; Quent wanted no doubts when he finally gave him more responsibility. The youth division was a smaller portion of a greater place. The way Marcus handled himself there would determine much about his business future.

  He’d just taken the quiet corridor leading to the youth wing, when a scream and dull thud met his ears. The sound rose from beyond the office at the end of the hall. Immediately, Quentin cursed his own stupidity, for he knew that what he was about to walk in on would not be good.

  The scream had undoubtedly come from one of the young women currently engaged in sex with his sons. Quentin wagered that it was the one Houston took against the far wall of the outer office. The young woman with Marcus had her mouth too full to scream as she pleasured him orally.

  Quentin ignored the blood rushing to his head. He hurtled his briefcase against the door, effectively startling the four other people in the room.

  “Get out. You girls get home.” Quentin’s voice was a rough grate.

  The girls were fixing their clothes while rushing out with their heads bowed in shame. Quentin slammed the office door shut behind them. Houston quickly set his clothes right. Marcus though, took his time zipping slacks before rising slowly to tuck in his shirt.

  “Tried to tell you this wasn’t for me.” Marc shrugged.

  “Clearly you found a way to make it your own.”

  The surprising calm in his father’s voice tempered Marc’s anger with sudden regret. To have the man catch him with his pants down- literally, after all he’d done to maneuver a respectable profile like Westin…he’d never trust him again. If he ever had. In that moment, Marc acknowledged that Ramsey would never truly be his as long as his father had a say.

  “Well Pop? Let me have it. It’s what you live for, right? Right?!”

  Quentin grimaced. “I’m starting to believe it’s what you live for.”

  “You’ve never loved me.” Marc stepped closer purposefully taunting. “You never loved me like the others. You only tolerate Houston- barely. I wonder…” His pitch stare turned into a squint as he pretended to concentrate. “Maybe Mama got tired of it all and went looking for outside pleasure while you were so busy building Ramsey. Are me and Hous even your sons, Pop?”

  “Marcus!”

  “Shut the fuck up, Houston!”

  Marc had scarcely finished issuing the order when Qu
entin lunged for him. Suddenly however, he stiffened. His eyes bulged wildly.

  “Poppa!” Houston cried, running to his father while his brother smirked.

  Quent jerked eerily before crumpling to the floor.

  Houston crouched next to the man. “Poppa! Poppa please, please stop! Marc? Marcus do something!”

  “Alright,” Marc made the promise but didn’t move for several seconds. When he finally walked forward, it was to tug Houston to his feet, step over his convulsing father and leave the room.

  ***

  Word of Quentin Ramsey’s stroke spread rapidly throughout the Savannah community. Doctors still feared the worst was yet to come. In fact, the man may have died if the cleaning crew hadn’t found him when they arrived for their nightly rotation.

  Marcella remained by her husband’s side. She only slept or ate when she allowed one of her children to bully her into it. It was on one of those rare days when his mother was away, that Damon had the chance to visit his father alone.

  Quentin had not regained consciousness since he’d arrived at the hospital days earlier. The diagnoses weren’t promising in that regard, but Damon knew his father was alert inside his ravaged body. He spoke as if the man were awake and avidly listening.

  Houston and Marc’s visits were non-existent, not to mention the fact that he’d been found in the youth division office- a thing no one else seemed to want to discuss. It didn’t take much to put together that something had happened there resulting in Quent Ramsey’s condition.

  Damon spoke on all this while he held his father’s hand to his bowed head. “I’ll see to it that they don’t ruin the family, Poppa. I promise you that.” He sniffled and gave into the tears which had been pressuring his eyes. “Whatever it takes, whatever it takes Pop, I’ll protect us. You can focus on getting better. Me and West can handle the rest.” Damon pressed a lingering kiss to Quent’s head and watched him closely for a long while before leaving.

  ***

  Daphne worked to mask her relieved smile when she spotted Houston alone in a remote waiting room at the hospital where his father was being treated. She’d taken a huge chance coming there to risk being spotted by other Ramseys or worse, nosy townspeople whose tongues would surely wag if they saw the daughter of the town whore talking with a Ramsey son.

  There he was though, looking adorable and oh so lonely. Her smile deepened. She’d known after their second time together that Marcus wouldn’t be the one to give her what she most wanted- a room inside the Ramsey mansion.

  But Houston…there was an edginess yet a sweetness to him that stirred something beyond sexual attraction. He seemed needy and lonely. She believed he’d cling to the first person who could make him forget those feelings. She would be that person.

  Houston looked up when he heard the soft knock. A range of expressions from surprise to shyness to suspicion crossed his handsome dark caramel toned face. He made no effort to speak.

  Daphne didn’t mind. She’d come prepared with explanations. “I was sorry to hear about your father.” Smoothing hands over tight white capris, she took a seat next to him. “Is there anything I can do?”

  Houston couldn’t help but find an appeal to her little girl looks and womanly prowess. She’d only been in the room a minute yet those aspects of her personality were as vivid as the emerald green of her sleeveless top. As on edge as he was about the circumstances regarding his father’s stroke; having the blonde nymphet in his presence, was having a definite improvement on his dismal mood. So much in fact; for the first time, he finally felt up to visiting his father instead of hiding out in whatever deserted waiting room he could find.

  When Daphne extended her hand, he accepted it slowly and returned her smile when she squeezed.

  ***

  “Get out.” Marc wasted no time with pleasantries when he saw that it was Damon knocking on his bedroom door.

  “I won’t be here long.” Damon slammed the door shut and leaned against it. “I don’t feel like spendin’ anymore time around you than I have to.”

  The comment got Marc’s attention for he raised his head, his dark gaze narrowing as he closely observed his little brother. “There was a time you looked up to me D.”

  “You’re mistaken, I was lookin’ at West.”

  The smirk froze on Marc’s face. “Get out or I throw you out and I’d much rather throw you out.”

  “I’m leaving.” Damon promised idly while surveying the framed picture of the Empire State Building on the wall. “Just wanted to make sure you were gonna do right by the Simons.”

  Marc tilted his head, surprised once again since no one as yet knew of his proposal to Josephine- unless her nosy sisters had spilled the beans.

  “I hope you’re arranging for them to get money.”

  “Money.” Marc set aside the Ebony magazine he’d been reading.

  “For Fernelle. You remember her, don’t you?”

  “What about her?” Marc kept his voice calm enough but the tight curl to his lip was the give away to his anger.

  “Come off it.” Damon pushed off the door and walked to the middle of Marc’s spotless room. “I know. Aside from Pop goin’ to the hospital, most of the town’s talkin’ about Fern Simon found washed up on shore at Tybee Island.”

  “So?”

  Damon’s pitch stare raked his brother’s face with unmasked dislike and disgust. He possessed the calm of a man beyond eighteen years. The affect was stunning. “So, she was pregnant by you when she died and in spite of the fact that you got out of it-so to speak- you still need to do what’s right.”

  “How the fuck did you-”

  “Need to make sure your door’s closed good n’ tight ‘round here before you curse out some girl you screwed and dumped when she told you a baby was on the way.”

  Marc made a sudden move for Damon, but stopped himself before following through with the attack. Yes, the affect of the boy’s calm was indeed stunning.

  “I want that family taken care of.” Damon folded arms across the beige short-sleeved shirt he wore and closed a bit more distance between he and his outraged brother. “Fernelle’s sisters shouldn’t want for anything. Finding a halfway decent husband will be hard enough since their reps are trash. And this marriage between you and the youngest one better work.”

  Marcus swallowed. “How do you-?”

  “Oh yeah, that’s another thing being whispered around town.” Damon turned for the door but left his brother with parting words. “Pop worked hard for what he’s done and he’s too good of a man to have been saddled with a son like you.” He opened the door and then looked back at Marcus. “I won’t let you ruin us. I’ll see you dead first. Take care of this.” Damon left as quickly as he’d arrived.

  ***

  The two young nurses in Quentin Ramsey’s room gushed and practically fell over themselves when the door opened to the man’s son. Each gave personalized reports on

  Quentin. The news wasn’t all good, but it wasn’t all bad either. During the early morning hours, the patient had awakened. The doctors had yet to contact the man’s family and were delighted when Marcus dropped by. Like the dutiful son, Marc said he’d handle contacting his family to let them in on the news.

  The nurses tending his father offered Marcus their sympathies. They were also bold enough to offer any other assistance he might need. Marc threw on all the charm for the doting women and simply asked for time alone. Once the nurses were gone, so was Marc’s charming façade.

  Quentin was indeed awake when his son arrived. His speech hadn’t returned- his gaze however spoke volumes as he stared down his son and the nurses.

  Alone together then, no remorse or hint of upset glinted in Marc’s dark stare. He coolly observed. The focused intent of his gaze was enough to raise anger in Quent’s own eyes.

  “It must be eating you alive to have missed out on the chance to get rid of me and Hous over what you walked in on.” Marc braced his hands to the edge of the bed and grinned. “Got
ta hand it to ya, Pop. Your lil’ baby boy came callin’ figuring he could do the deed.” Moving from the bed, Marc stroked his jaw while contemplating. “God to have that kid on my side…” he said to himself before the grin returned. “He’s got confidence and balls for days…told me my marriage to Josephine Simon better work. Oh yeah,” he winked at his father, “we’re engaged. She’s a sweet lil’ thing, respectable, fine and trusting- you’d like her. ‘Course D didn’t come to wish me luck. Wants to make sure I do right by the Simons with Fernelle

  Simon washin’ up on Tybee knocked up with my kid and all.” Marc laughed at the horror he saw in Quent’s eyes.

  “I didn’t kill her Pop if that’s what you’re thinking. That is what you’re thinking?” He sat in the chair next to Quent’s bed and toyed with the bouquet of flowers on the nightstand. “Pop, Pop always thinkin’ the worst of me. Was there ever a time when you thought the best?” Marc let the silence hang for a while before he shook his head.

  “No, I didn’t kill her but D’s still got me over a barrel. But understand this, Pop, none of you should sit back and think I’ll never go after what’s rightfully mine at Ramsey. Your golden boy West has all the right stuff- all the ethics but it’ll take more than that. It’ll take a hell of a lot more than that to make Ramsey what we want it to be.” Smiling then, Marc rested back in the chair and crossed his ankle over his knee.

  “Sometimes you have to go through the back door to get to the front. All your money and respect made you forget that, Pop. It’s how you made Ramsey what it is for Christ’s sake.” He grimaced, focusing on the crease in his trouser leg while allowing himself to calm. “Your time is passed and Westin is definitely not what Ramsey needs to usher it into a new time.” He moved close to his father’s bed then. “I’m gonna see to it that my place is secured and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

  Quent bristled, veins outstretched when Marc brushed the back of his hand across his hair.

  “Do you really think you’re gonna recover, Pop? Hmph. I’ve heard it takes some folks years to even re-learn how to hold a pencil.” He leaned back in the chair again. “By then, I’ll be top nigga at Ramsey. I’ll take it so far, no body would believe a thing you had to say against me. They’d just feel sorry for you. ‘Poor Quent. Ain’t been the same since that stroke turned him into a feeble ole man.’”