by Karen Young
“Tired?” Buck asked, looking over at her when she gave a weary sigh.
“Yes.” The events of the day were catching up with her and Anne realized she was looking forward to the quiet isolation of the lodge…so long as Buck was there with her. “This has been the longest day of my life. I just want to go to sleep and forget everything.”
“That was a pretty stunning discovery…I mean, about Franklin and Beatrice being your parents.
She sighed again. “Tell me.”
With his eyes on the road, he said, “You think you might bring yourself to go see them tomorrow?”
She sat without moving for a long minute. “Facilitating again, are you?”
He gave a shrug and grinned at her. “Hell, why not? It seems to be my new role in the family.”
“If you can facilitate harmony in your family, you should give up baseball and put out a shingle,” she said dryly.
He was silent too long.
“That was a joke, Buck.”
“I’m thinking about that,” he said. “Giving up baseball, I mean.”
Her mouth dropped. She was speechless.
“I guess I shocked you. But just think, at my age I can only play another couple years, best case. I wouldn’t admit this to anybody but you, but my pitching arm has been giving me trouble. Just a matter of time and I blow it out.”
It was no surprise to her that his arm was not up to par, but she’d never expected him to admit it. She’d known that he didn’t want to hear any wifely questions of concern from her, which had only added to the list of things they couldn’t talk about…then.
“So what next, I’m asking myself,” Buck went on. “Until I came back to Tallulah, the time when I wouldn’t be playing just stretched out in front of me, a long line of nothing. But now that I’m here, I see a lot of good things I could do with my life, starting with whipping myself into shape as a good husband and next, becoming a father. It’s like my eyes are open now, when before I was walking around with blinders on.”
“Oh, Buck…” Seat belt unbuckled, she reached over and kissed him on the mouth. “This is so incredible. You are one wonderful man. Are you serious?”
“I am.” He grinned at her. “I have to admit Ty’s been working on me and so has Jack. There’s a lot of good I can do here, Anne. First of all, I intend to have a real role in the affairs of Belle Pointe, but after growing season, I’ll have time. I can use my name and influence, whatever it amounts to, to doing something good for kids around here that wouldn’t have a fair shot otherwise.”
She felt a surge of pleasure and relief. And anticipation. There was so much they could do together here. Her enthusiasm faded as they turned in at the lodge and saw the big black Lexus parked in front.
Buck groaned. “Seems like my big brother considers the lodge his meeting place of choice when he wants to talk.”
“I’m just surprised he hasn’t managed to corner you before now,” Anne said. “In fact, I thought he’d show up at Joel Tanner’s office while we were there. Tanner surely called him.”
“Campaign took precedence. Joel said he was in Jackson sucking up to the party bigwigs. He needs financial commitment from the party.”
“His supporters there must be wondering why you haven’t endorsed him.”
“Not gonna happen.” Buck threw open his door. “This is one race he’ll have to run on his own.”
As Buck had done in his struggle from baseball’s minor leagues into the majors, Anne thought as they made the long climb up the lodge steps.
Lights blazed as Buck ushered Anne inside. Unlike Buck’s other encounters with his brother, it appeared this one wouldn’t happen on the porch.
Pearce stood in the center of the great room. “This is Diet Coke I’m drinking, bro,” he said, rattling ice in the tumbler. “I don’t how long it’s been since I’ve hung around cooling my heels without the benefit of good scotch. Turned the place upside down and couldn’t find a bottle. No booze in the lodge. Seems a desecration somehow.” He raised the drink to Anne. “Evening, Anne.”
“Hello, Pearce.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Buck said, closing the door behind him. “If you’d shared with me the time of our appointment, you might not have had such a long wait.”
“That would probably have been a good plan,” Pearce said, “but I was in Jackson and you know how it is trying to corner a politician. They make you hang around, then leave you feeling like crap. It’s a bitch.” His practiced smile included both of them. “But we’re here now and…hey, let’s talk.”
Anne blinked with confusion. Pearce should be seething with rage. Instead, he was in full politician bonhomie. Maybe Tanner hadn’t told him.
“It’s been a long day, Pearce,” Buck said, “especially for Anne. Whatever’s on your mind, let’s have it. And if you’re thinking of suggesting my wife might want to go to bed without me, not a chance.”
Pearce lifted his glass again, a silent acknowledgement that Buck had the upper hand. “Can we at least sit down?”
With a touch to Anne’s waist, Buck steered her to the big leather couch and sat down beside her. As soon as Pearce took the large armchair opposite them, he said, “Okay, what’s on your mind?”
“What else? Your visit to Joel’s office.”
“Sweet setup he’s got there,” Buck said, “exclusive handling of all Whitaker family matters and Belle Pointe, too. And his brother doing the books. I can see why you’d want him to manage your campaign. Who better to keep a lid on your secrets than someone with a vested interest?”
Pearce didn’t rise to the bait. “According to Joel, you’re still bent on reminding people that I was involved in Jim Bob Baker’s accident. There’s no secret, Buck, but if you keep going around talking about it, pretty soon folks will begin to think where there’s smoke there’s fire.”
“I’m not talking about it with anybody except you, the family lawyer and Mother. And since they’re both in your pocket, why’re you so nervous?”
“Stuff gets out, man!” Pearce glanced at Anne. “Your wife’s listening right now. Next thing, Franklin Marsh gets wind of it and runs a story in the Spectator. I can’t afford for that to happen.”
“I have no intention of discussing you or your past with my father,” Anne told him. “Or anyone else.”
“Then what’s all that nosing around in the archives about?”
She sighed. “It’s about Tallulah history. It’s about the Whitakers and the role they’ve played in this town…” She paused. “Before you were born, Pearce.” Did the man think everything had to be about him?
Buck stood up. “Are you done?”
“Deny it all you want, but you’re killing me, Buck. You’ve got to know that. I haven’t cottoned on to your game yet, since you’ll be out of Tallulah as soon as that knee is a hundred percent. Yet you’re going around stirring up shit right and left. It’s doing damage, man. I hear people whispering, wondering. And suddenly Jack Breedlove is coming on strong…out of nowhere. Deny it all you want, but you’re with him. What can I do to persuade you to back off?”
“How about telling me what Jim Bob meant when he made that crack about Ma? I might back off then.”
With an oath, Pearce slammed the half-full tumbler on a table and stalked to the door. “I can see it doesn’t do any good trying to reason with you,” he said, wrenching it open. “Just tell me the date you’ll be heading back to St. Louis so I can throw a farewell party. And do me a favor. Make it soon.”
With a quick wink at Anne, Buck grinned. “You’ll be the first to know.”
As soon as the taillights of the Lexus faded, Buck pulled Anne into his arms and smiled down at her. “Looks like I’ve got my big brother in a sweat.”
She looked at him with one brow arched. “Should you be enjoying it quite so much?”
He hiked one shoulder. “I’m only human, darlin’.”
She pushed her hips against him and laughed. “I can testify to tha
t.”
He made a growling sound and nipped her on the side of her neck. “Can we go to bed now? Finally?” Before the last word, his cell phone rang. He groaned. “I’m ignoring that.”
Ignoring him, she plucked the phone from his belt and looked at the caller ID. “It’s my dad, so okay we’ll ignore it.”
Buck’s smile faded as he took the still-ringing phone from her. “I don’t think he’d call at this hour unless it’s something urgent. Your frosty attitude at lunch was pretty discouraging.”
“I was polite,” she said coolly.
The phone, still in Buck’s hand, beeped to signal new voice mail. “I’m checking the message,” he told her. “What if one of them is sick? Telling you their secret was pretty heavy-duty stuff and they’re not exactly young anymore.”
Anne was chilled at the thought. Listening to the message didn’t mean she had to return her dad’s call. “Okay, listen.”
Buck punched the numbers to retrieve voice mail and frowned as he listened. “What is it?” Anne asked when he closed the phone with a snap.
“It was Franklin and he sounded upset. He asked me to call him.”
“Oh.” Anne told herself it wasn’t fear she felt, just a natural concern. After all, her father was still her father, even though she hadn’t known how much of a father until today. Of course, he could be calling because Beatrice— “Okay, call him back,” she said.
He smiled. “That’s my girl.” He dialed, using his thumb. While it rang, he reached for Anne and pulled her close, so that when Franklin answered, she could hear his voice.
“Is that you, Buck?”
“Yeah. What’s up, Franklin?”
“Well, I know it’s late…and you and Anne have probably just gotten settled for the night, but Bea insisted I needed to call.”
“Ask if she’s sick,” Anne whispered to Buck.
“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Franklin said, apparently overhearing. “It’s about the journals. The Whitaker journals.”
Buck met Anne’s eyes and gave a beats-me shrug. “What about them?”
“Well, maybe we shouldn’t have, but you know both of us have a special interest in the history of the Mississippi Delta and of course the Whitaker journals are pretty irresistible dating back, as they do, over a hundred and fifty years. So we took the liberty of opening them and reading a while. I hope—”
“Franklin, it’s okay. Be my guest. But your message said it was urgent.”
“We’re thinking you might want to come over and read one of John Whitaker’s entries, Buck…considering all that’s gone on lately.”
Buck looked at his watch. “Right now? It’s nearly midnight, Franklin.”
“I’d rather say no more on the cell phone, don’t you know. But the entry is dated around the time that fellow, Jim Bob Baker, was killed in that hunting accident. It relates to that, Buck.”
The receiver went slack in Buck’s hand. He looked into Anne’s stunned eyes. “We’ll be right over.”
Twenty-Four
The drizzle had cleared by the time they pulled into the driveway of the Marshes’ Victorian and patches of fog were developing. The moment they were out of the SUV, the door opened and Franklin beckoned them inside.
“Muggy weather, isn’t it?” he said as they wiped their feet in the foyer.
“Good for the crops,” Buck said, nudging Anne forward. Beatrice stood in the arched doorway of the dining room. Behind her, on the fine antique table, were several of the Whitaker journals. “Hi, Beatrice.”
“Buck.” She managed a smile, then shifted it to Anne. Her gaze was anxious. “This was not a ploy to get you back over here.”
Anne had to smile. “At this hour? I never thought it was. Besides, I was coming around tomorrow anyway.” Three faces registered surprise. She shrugged. “I needed a while to overcome the shock.”
“Oh.” Beatrice put a hand on her heart. “Please believe we didn’t mean to give you such a shock…ever.”
“You could say it set the stage for the rest of the day, which has been…interesting. Right, Buck?”
“You could say.” Buck rubbed his hands together. “So, how about those Whitaker journals? Let’s have a look.”
With Beatrice leading the way, they went into the dining room. Franklin put a hand on one of the ancient books and stroked it reverently. “I just couldn’t resist reading a bit,” he said. “I went right to the early days after the Civil War. Beatrice, now, she wanted some insight into John Whitaker.” He winked at Anne. “I’ve always suspected she had a bit of a crush on him.”
“Franklin!”
“Just teasing, Bea.” He slipped his spectacles on and opened a journal that looked less aged than the others. “This would be the last journal and Bea found the entry you’ll want to read.” He glanced up, looking over the spectacles. “At least, I hope we’re doing the right thing in bringing this to your attention at this particular time. You’d have found it on your own, or I know Anne would as she’s been so keen about reading them.”
“What is it, Dad?”
“See for yourself.” He pushed the journal across the table where Anne and Buck stood, then waited while they read the entry he’d marked with a sticky note.
“Oh, my God,” Anne whispered, clutching at Buck’s arm.
“Yeah. I guess this explains everything. I was hoping—” With thumb and forefinger, Buck rubbed his eyes wearily. “Read it again, Anne…out loud.”
Anne read, “Today I betrayed every ethical standard I’ve been taught to revere as a Whitaker. I’m deeply ashamed. Buck came to me voicing suspicion of his brother in the death of Jim Bob Baker. In spite of Pearce’s quite cunning account of the ‘accident,’ I suspected the moment he told us Baker was dead of a bullet wound from his own gun that it might be a lie. Pearce may have killed the man in cold blood. So instead of telling Buck that I shared his suspicions, I lectured him about family honor and his duty to the citizens of Tallulah and sent him off to university hoping he’d put it out of his mind. I blame myself for this tragedy. I was suspicious of the terms of the ginning contract with Wilson’s. Since Victoria is an excellent businesswoman, she would never accept terms so unfavorable to Belle Pointe without good reason. I suspected blackmail. If I’d spoken out earlier, confronted her openly, all would have been revealed and Pearce’s motive for murdering Baker would possibly have been removed. I knew, and I’m convinced Victoria does, as well, that the contract had everything to do with Rudy Baker. As did the murder of his brother.”
Anne looked up into Buck’s eyes. “We were right,” she whispered.
“You were right. Keep going.”
“Confronting her now is too late. The time to tell her what I suspect is long past. I’ve known ever since Pearce was a small boy that he was not my son, but Rudy’s.”
Anne pushed the journal aside. “I don’t want to read any more.” She put a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Why do you think John didn’t tell this to the police when it happened?”
“Protecting the almighty Whitaker name,” Buck said bitterly.
Franklin spoke quietly. “There could be another reason.” When all three were looking, he said, “For love. Maybe he loved her.”
Beatrice moved her finger down the page and read, “I daresay I’m not the first man to be made a fool of by a beautiful woman. And Victoria is that, beautiful, intelligent, sensual, seductive.”
“She sounds very much like that sixteen-year-old girl you remember from high school, Beatrice,” Anne said in a hushed tone. What was more amazing was how that girl could have reinvented herself into the woman Victoria was today.
“So what we think,” Buck said, “is that Baker was blackmailing her, demanding exorbitant terms for ginning Belle Pointe cotton. But here’s the thing. Since there was no DNA then to disprove paternity and with Rudy long dead, I don’t see how someone as shrewd as my mother could be victimized.”
“Only Victoria can tell us that,” Anne said.
> “And she won’t,” Buck said. “You can take that to the bank.”
Buck balled up his shirt and tossed it at the clothes hamper. With a sigh, Anne crossed the room and picked it up. “Are you going to ask her about it?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Like I said, I have one screwed-up family.” His jeans he managed to hurl accurately into the hamper. Naked now, he stalked into the bathroom. “I need a shower.”
Anne watched him go. Although he’d suspected his brother, she knew Buck had held out some hope that he was wrong. His father’s journal entry wiped out that hope. Maybe even worse, his mother’s dark secret was revealed. It didn’t appear to make him happy that he, and not Pearce, was lone heir to Belle Pointe. Anne recalled Joel Tanner’s words about poking around under the rocks of the past and getting a nasty surprise.
She wandered into the bathroom. Buck stood in the shower with one arm braced on the wall, his head bent under the spray. Her heart twisted. Hesitating only a minute, she stripped, pulled the door open and stepped inside.
For one startled moment, he was caught off guard. Then, with a groan, his arms went around her, holding on as if he would never let her go.
“I love you,” she said, burying her face in his neck.
He raised his hands and sank his fingers in her hair. His kiss was fierce, hot and desperate. It exploded into her senses, pulling her deep into the same vortex of feeling where he was. No cascade of water could ever wash away the pain of what he’d learned tonight. Or the shock of what Anne now knew. Nothing could do that. In the rush of need that consumed them both, there was no panacea to be found, only pleasure fraught with forgetfulness and greedy lust.
On an incoherent sound, he changed the angle of the kiss and took it hot and deep again, both hands fisted in her hair. Without breaking the kiss, he caught her up, bracing against the wall so that she instinctively locked her legs around him. One thrust and he was inside her, oblivious of the water cooling rapidly as it sluiced over them. Another and he shuddered in a violent release.