by Karen Young
“I admit nothing,” she said coolly. “On the contrary, while you’ve been in school, Pearce has progressed very satisfactorily in running Belle Pointe.”
“I’ve been home every summer for three years and I haven’t noticed Pearce having any interest in farming,” Buck argued.
“He will do his duty,” Victoria stated doggedly.
For a long moment, Buck simply stared at her. He knew there was no way in hell that Pearce would willingly choose farming at Belle Pointe over practicing law. Pearce liked hobnobbing with the state’s movers and shakers. He liked wheeling and dealing. He liked using his birthright as a Whitaker of Belle Pointe as an asset, but he didn’t like getting up at daylight to supervise the crews until dark. He didn’t like to sweat or to get his hands dirty. So why was his mother pushing Buck out to hand Belle Pointe over to Pearce?
“What if my excellent prospects don’t pan out, Mother?” he asked. “And if there’s no place for me at Belle Pointe, where’s my place in your plan?”
“You have an excellent education and you’re intelligent,” she said. “That is more than many young men start out with.” She moved regally to the door. “Now, finish packing and Pearce will help you carry your things to the car.”
Telling it to Anne now, Buck waited for the bitterness that always came when he thought of that conversation with his mother, but to his surprise it didn’t hurt as much as it once did.
“How could she?” Anne whispered, shocked.
“The thing that galls me most to this day is that I begged her to change her mind,” he said quietly. “She told me that my dreams for Belle Pointe weren’t going to happen, that she was handing it over to Pearce who didn’t give a damn about innovations in crop management or experimental projects like other planters to keep from depleting soil nutrients. Dad knew I had my heart set on trying new stuff, that I’d spent four years leaning to make a difference at Belle Pointe and she slammed the door in my face.”
He read a mix of sympathy and bafflement in Anne’s expression and gave a sheepish shrug. “I guess I sound like a big crybaby, don’t I? Hell, she was right after all. My baseball career did take off—even though it took a few years. And now I have a very healthy portfolio, a house in St. Louis, condos in Vail and West Palm Beach, a couple of really fast cars, a beautiful wife—” He stopped with a wry grin. “I do still have a wife, don’t I?”
She said nothing, simply shook her head.
“You’re wondering why this has festered in my craw for so damn long.”
“Wrong. I’m beginning to understand why baseball is so vital to you. And why you’ve been so reluctant about coming home.”
“It’s not my home anymore. She made that plain.” He spoke with a tremor in his voice, but quickly cleared his throat. “You want to know something else that’s really funny?”
“Please,” she said with feeling.
“You’d think I was the last person she wanted working at Belle Pointe, but she called me at home a couple nights ago and asked just that. Seems Pearce is occupied with the demands of his campaign and since I’m not going to play ball this season, she thinks I should take up the slack.”
Anne frowned. “Isn’t there a manager?”
“Not anymore. Will Wainwright gave notice that he’s retiring.” He was unconsciously rubbing at the muscle above his knee again. “So I called Will and sure enough, he’s had enough. He’s sixty-nine years old and he told me the only way he can enjoy his grandkids is to retire.” He studied his foot propped on the sofa, then spoke wryly. “I can only imagine a job with my mother as the boss.”
“What did you tell your mother when she asked you to help out?”
“What do you think I told her? I refused flat-out.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Not that she accepted it. She thinks she can bring me around. She makes everybody do what she wants eventually.”
“I’m curious,” Anne said, studying his stony profile. “Back when this happened, how did Pearce respond to your mother’s edict? I can’t see him just walking away from his practice to take up farming as she claimed he would.”
“And you’d be right.” He gave a scornful snort. “But Pearce is too shrewd to openly defy her. He gave it a couple of months, but mostly he was busy trying to find a replacement for Pete Wilcox. It was Pearce who found Will.”
“Incredible,” she murmured.
“He has a way, Pearce does,” Buck said, nodding his head slowly. “I never knew how to get around my mother the way he did. And still does. I would have spent all day every day working my ass off at Belle Pointe, but not Pearce.” With his eyes fixed at a point midway between them, Buck wrinkled his brow thinking about it. “Even today he needs his connection to Belle Pointe to build his law practice and to lay the foundation for his political aspirations, but he never gets his hands dirty. Actually, now that I think about it, he’s slick enough to be a politician.”
He swung his gaze back to Anne’s. “I’m telling you all this to try and explain why I’ve got some pretty negative feelings about Belle Pointe and Tallulah…about family.” He gave a self-conscious laugh. “Actually, now that you’ve heard it all, you may know way more about me than you wanted.”
“No,” Anne told him softly. “I’m just glad you finally decided to trust me enough to tell me.”
“I’ve always trusted you, Anne.”
She was shaking her head. “No, Buck, you haven’t.”
The kind of trust she was talking about scared him. Looking into her beautiful turquoise eyes, he wanted to take her into his arms. He wanted to kiss her anger and disappointment away. He wanted to promise her the moon and stars, but what she wanted was a baby. But would she want his baby now?
She stood up, but instead of picking up her groceries, she picked up his crutch. “Now that you’re here, where are you planning to stay?”
He looked at her a long minute. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“You’ve given me a lot to think about, Buck. But I’m still struggling with the differences in the way we think about marriage and family and our future. I still need time away from you to work it out.”
He swallowed disappointment. “I guess that means I won’t be staying here.”
“I’m occupying the guest bedroom,” she told him. “There is no other.”
After a long moment, he took his crutch from her and managed to get up from the couch. When he was on his feet, he reached out to tip up her chin and let his eyes rove over her face. “I’ve really done some damage, haven’t I, Anne?”
“There’s blame on both sides,” she said quietly. “I just haven’t been able to make peace with all of it yet.”
He nodded and let his hand fall to his side. “I’ve had a lot of time to think since you left. I may not have this baby thing squared away yet and I don’t have a good fix on a future after baseball, but I do know this, Anne: I love you and I don’t want to lose you. I love baseball, too, and I won’t deny I enjoy the limelight. But when you left, the shine was gone. It’s no fun without you.”
She took a step back. “It’s late, Buck. I need to start dinner.” She put up a hand before he could ask. “No, you aren’t invited. But here’s a thought. They’re probably serving dinner at Belle Pointe about now.”
He laughed softly, accepting defeat. “I’m hungry, but not that hungry, babe.” He fixed the crutch firmly beneath his arm and started toward the door. “Now that you’ve refused to take me in, I may check out the family’s hunting lodge. It’s quiet, it’s private and it’s a long way from the big house at Belle Pointe.”
She followed him, then waited as he used his crutch to push the door wide enough to get through. “Now that I know how far Victoria went to keep Pearce ‘down on the farm,’” she said, “it makes me wonder if she’s totally supportive of a career change that will distance him from Belle Pointe.”
“From the way she talks,” Buck said, “she assumes Pearce feels the same visceral connection to Belle Pointe tha
t she feels.” He gave a snort. “It ain’t so.”
Anne looked thoughtful. “I wonder about Claire, too. To get a really complete picture, I’d like to get their take on all this before my article goes to press.”
“What article?”
“Oh, didn’t I say? I interviewed Pearce.”
“The Spectator is endorsing him?”
“No, I’m doing a feature article on the candidates. I interviewed Jack Breedlove, too.” Her lips curved in a small smile. “Neither is aware that they’re both in the same article.” She glanced up to find him watching her with an odd look on his face. “What?”
“You’ve missed your career, haven’t you? You’re getting a kick out of working at the Spectator even though it’s small-town stuff.”
“Yeah, I am. It’s fun. More than that, it’s fulfilling.” This time her smile had a wicked tilt. “The fun may end when Pearce sees what I’ve written. Because I’m ‘family,’ he expects a puff piece.”
Buck leaned against the doorjamb, enjoying a relaxed moment with her. “How about Jack? Are you trashing him, too?”
“I’m not trashing anybody,” she told him. “I’m just not willing to ignore a few unsettling facts I’ve uncovered about Pearce. And as for his opponent, I’ll just say that Pearce shouldn’t underestimate Jack Breedlove. He’s charismatic, he’s smart, plus, unlike Pearce, he’s a self-made man and a war hero.”
Buck straightened up. “Whoa up there. If you admire Jack so much, maybe I should be worried.”
“Don’t be silly. By the way, why isn’t he married?”
“He came close once.” As if he couldn’t resist touching her, he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Claire almost eloped with him.”
Her mouth fell open. “Claire Whitaker? Our Claire? Pearce’s wife?”
“The same,” he said with a shrug. “Her daddy’s president of the bank. Word was that he nixed it. Jack’s pedigree didn’t measure up.”
“And Pearce’s did,” Anne murmured. “Wow…”
“Jack’s a good man. He was then and I’d bet my best glove he still is.”
“He mentioned you played baseball together in high school.”
“Yeah, we go way back.” He glanced down at her, his gold eyes intent and oddly beseeching. “Are you sure about all this, Anne?”
“It’s only in draft form so far, but—”
He made an impatient sound. “I’m not talking about your article. I’m talking about us. You and me. I’m here. We need to be together to work this out.”
“To answer your question, I’m not sure about anything.”
He stood looking at her for a long minute. “Well, you’ve got my cell phone if you need me,” he said finally.
For some obscure reason, she felt her throat go tight. “Take care, Buck.”
Seven
Beatrice walked into the kitchen and with one look at Anne’s face knew she was upset. With her whole heart and soul, she wanted to ask what was wrong, but she dared not undo the delicate start they’d made in their relationship. It was absolutely wonderful to have Anne staying with her and Franklin, but she longed for the time when they were truly friends, close and loving friends who shared confidences. So Anne would have to be the one to make the first move.
“Something smells delicious in here,” she said, shedding her jacket. “Tell me it isn’t something fattening.”
“Is fettuccine Alfredo fattening?”
“My God, yes.” Beatrice crossed the kitchen as Anne turned off the gas. She dipped a finger for a quick taste and, closing her eyes, sighed with pleasure. “Please tell me you’re never going to leave.”
“I’ve made a pecan pie, too,” Anne said, looking toward the door. “It’s Dad’s favorite. Where is he?”
“There’s a city council meeting. He always likes to attend in the rare hope that something interesting will happen. He’ll love it when he comes home to find you’ve made this lovely dinner.”
“I like to cook when I’m upset.”
Beatrice’s smile gentled with concern. “Did something happen?”
Anne moved to the teapot and poured a cup for each of them. “Buck is here,” she said quietly.
“Here?” Beatrice looked around as if he might be hiding in the pantry.
“He chartered a plane and now he’s here in Tallulah.” She handed a cup to Beatrice. “I drove up and there he was, parked in the driveway.”
“Ah.” Beatrice smiled with understanding and took a seat at the table while Anne went to the fridge for lemon. “I’m surprised he didn’t get here sooner.”
Anne sank into a chair. “Really? Because I couldn’t have been more surprised, considering how he hates Tallulah.”
“He misses you.”
Anne smiled softly into her tea. “I actually think he does.”
“And he’s more concerned over losing his wife than whatever it is that has kept him from visiting Tallulah.” Beatrice reached for a slice of lemon. “To tell the truth, I’ve been wondering about that myself.”
“It has always been like pulling teeth to get him to talk much about his family,” Anne said, stirring absently with a spoon. “I knew he had hard feelings toward his mother, but from the little he told me, I thought it was probably old-fashioned sibling rivalry, that Pearce was probably Victoria’s favorite son and Buck resented it. That happens sometimes, doesn’t it?” She looked up into Beatrice’s eyes. “I was an only child, so I always imagined it would be wonderful to have a sister or a brother. And I would have been happy to share my parents, or so I told myself.”
Beatrice smiled. “I think that’s a pretty common fantasy for an only child. But you say he told you something tonight that puts a different face on it?”
“A cruel face.” With her elbows on the table, Anne cradled her teacup in both hands. “What it boils down to is that when John Whitaker died, Victoria decided that Pearce was his primary heir. Which would have been okay with Buck, he tells me, as long as he could manage the cotton crop. He claims Pearce never had any interest in doing that.”
“Buck is right,” Beatrice agreed. “Pearce never cared a flip about Belle Pointe as far as farming it goes. He’s a lawyer, first and foremost.” She paused, stirring her tea. “Actually, he’s best suited for exactly what he’s set on now, a career in politics. It was Buck that folks expected to step in and manage Belle Pointe when John Whitaker died, but instead of doing that, he chose to pursue his baseball career.”
“No, Beatrice. He didn’t choose a career in baseball. Buck was in his last semester of college and, just as you thought, he planned to put his education to practical use running Belle Pointe, but Victoria had other ideas…and they didn’t include Buck.”
“What does that mean?” Beatrice asked, frowning.
“Victoria practically disinherited him. She flatly rejected the life he’d worked and trained for, essentially closing the doors to Belle Pointe in his face. That was when he turned to baseball.”
“How is that possible? He’s John’s son, same as Pearce. John wouldn’t have disinherited him.”
“He wasn’t written out of the will, but for some reason Victoria didn’t want him at Belle Pointe. At least, that’s the way Buck told it to me tonight. She wanted Pearce to run Belle Pointe and she wanted Buck to find his place in the world elsewhere.” Anne set her cup down with a clink. “I was shocked. What kind of mother is she to do that?”
“One with her own private agenda,” Beatrice said, looking thoughtful. “Or so it appears. Although I can’t imagine what it could be. Buck would be an asset to Belle Pointe. Pearce lives in the big house, but it’s only a house to him. His heritage as a Whitaker looks good on his résumé and now that he’s in a full-fledged political campaign, you can believe he’ll make sure the voters know it.” She was shaking her head. “Shoving Buck out of Belle Pointe makes no sense.”
“I know. But whether it does or not, Victoria now has changed her mind. With Pearce distracted by the
demands of his campaign and Buck injured and out of baseball for the duration, she suggested that he could put his time to good use by managing this growing season.”
“Really?” Beatrice blinked in surprise. “I thought Will Wainwright managed Belle Pointe.”
“Not anymore. He’s decided to retire.”
Beatrice sat back and thought for a moment. “Well, I’m beginning to see why Victoria has had to change her game plan. She’s up a creek without a paddle.”
“Looks that way.”
Beatrice heard something in Anne’s voice. “So, what did Buck tell her?”
“A flat no.” Anne fiddled with her spoon, then smiled at Beatrice. “He wouldn’t admit it, but I think he’s tempted.”
They shared a moment of amusement as the sound of chimes striking the hour came from the front room. Then Anne sighed. “Frankly, my head is just spinning with all this,” she told Beatrice. “I always thought Buck was lucky to have such a big family, but of course it depends on the family, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. Having a big family isn’t always a blessing,” Beatrice said. “I should know.”
“At least you know,” Anne replied. “You can look down a long line of relatives and see all kinds of interesting things, family likenesses, personality traits, body types. Dad must have told you that I was adopted. I know nothing about my birth parents and lately I’ve been toying with the idea of doing some research to try and find them.”
“Are you really that curious?” As Anne thought, Beatrice chose her next words carefully. “There may be things you learn that hurt you…or someone else.”
“I suppose so. On the other hand,” Anne argued, “I might learn that there is some genetic cause that I didn’t carry my baby to term.”
Beatrice sighed and reached over, covering Anne’s hand. “It’s not uncommon for a first pregnancy to end in a miscarriage,” she said gently.
“I know that. But I was told the accident didn’t cause it, so I can’t help wondering if there’s something else. I remember once having a science project where we each had to draw a family tree and I didn’t have one. Oh, I could have done my adoptive parents and I did but, deep inside, I really, really wanted to know how my biological family tree would look.” She twiddled with a paper napkin, then smiled up at Beatrice. “My mother was very understanding about it. I don’t think she would be upset to know I’m thinking of pursuing it.”