Children of Dynasty

by Christine Carroll

  Yes, she could refuse Rory. See Grant dismantled and both her and her father destroyed.

  Put like that, it was a no-brainer.

  “All right, Rory. I’ll marry you.”

  CHAPTER 24

  The decision made, Mariah went to the bow of the boat and waved Lyle back to the city. He raised a big arm and even at a distance, she saw the flash of white teeth as he grinned and turned away.

  From the excellent repast Rory had laid out, she managed to eat bread and cheese and sip a little wine. Their picnic complete, they packed up the trash and put away the cockpit cushions. Rory shut the companionway hatch and locked it.

  Mariah thought of them sailing together, spending weekends on the boat. Waking up late and making slow love before a late breakfast on deck … She tore off the thought and trashed it along with the lunch sack.

  Rory steered the Porsche over the Golden Gate to the city and parked in front of her apartment house. Once inside, he sat on a stool at her kitchen counter and talked at her while she went into her bedroom to pack, innocuous statements with no bearing on the serious step they were about to undertake.

  “What do you wear to get married in Lake Tahoe?” she called through the doorway.

  “Your gold dress,” Rory said. “I’ve got my tux.”

  Her hands went still in the act of tucking a hairbrush into her makeup bag. She went to the doorway. “You must have been pretty sure of my answer.”

  Fishing in his pocket, Rory brought up the knife with the corkscrew he’d used at Bayview. “Eagle Scout,” he told her again, sticking with banter. “Were you ever in Scouts?”

  She shook her head and gave him a serious look. “There’s so much we don’t know about each other.” During the quick passion of their youth, they’d spent a lot of time necking, but in the way of the young, not much time talking. Even now, despite his dear familiarity, she had to admit Rory was a stranger.

  “Did you pack to … stay the night?” she asked.

  “I did,” he replied in an even tone, “but we’ll have to get up early to get back in the morning to talk with Father. I assume once he agrees to a merger without having to pay your Dad any front money, he can phone Thaddeus Walker and tell him foreclosure’s no longer part of the plan. DCI — that is, whatever we call the combined company — can pick up on the loan payments.”

  Mariah went back into her room to pack the gold dress. For staying overnight, she put in underwear, her black pantsuit for the drive home and tomorrow’s meeting with Davis, and extra toiletries. She hesitated over her bathrobes. Her favorite worn terry one was still at Dad’s, and it wouldn’t do for a bride. If only she hadn’t left the black velvet at Wilson McMillan’s. As a compromise, she selected a blue silk kimono, closed the lid, and took her bag into the living room.

  Rory rose to take her burden. “Did you bring your ring? I thought …”

  If this had been a wedding in the true sense of the word, she would have wanted to wear the ruby he’d bought her in Carmel.

  “I don’t …”

  His look of disappointment was so sharp it sent a slam of excitement through her.

  “I told you when I bought it that you should have had a ring eight years ago. Now that we’re finally getting …” He paused.

  Despite that this was not going to be the wedding she’d imagined for them, she nodded. “It’s in the safe deposit.”

  The next stop was First California, where she told them she wanted to close out her box.

  “No sense giving them any more business,” she said in an aside to Rory.

  For the attendant, she signed a card and proffered her key. In a small private booth, she opened the box. There was only one thing in the small metal container.

  Mariah brought out the velvet case and offered it to Rory. He lifted the lid to reveal the ruby and pair of flanking diamonds sparkling even in the bank fluorescents. For a long moment, he studied his gift to her before snapping the top shut and slipping the case in his pants pocket.

  Back in the car, Rory turned the Porsche’s nose toward the Bay Bridge that would take them to the mainland and toward the Sierras. Yet, a funny feeling told Mariah there was something more to do before leaving town.

  “I know we can’t tell your father until after we’re …” she skipped the word “married” as Rory had done, “but do you think we could stop by Dad’s? He’ll keep our secret until tomorrow.”

  In answer, Rory made an immediate U-turn through a break in the median and aimed the Porsche south toward Stonestown. When they pulled off Sloat Boulevard onto her father’s street, Tom Barrett’s car was at the curb.

  “Company?” Rory asked.

  “It’s Tom, Charley’s dad.” She hesitated. “There was some trouble this morning.” For a moment, she wondered whether to tell Rory, but it would be nice not to have secrets. “I’m afraid your father was paying Tom’s gambling debts in exchange for him spying on us at Grant.”

  Rory shut off the ignition and stared at her. “What next?”

  The hurt in his eyes made her put a hand on his arm. “You said he wasn’t always this bad. Until he saw me again and got upset over Catharine.”

  “He’s distinguished himself this time.”

  Unspoken between them hung her charge of attempted murder.

  Rory looked at John’s house. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

  Just as she and he had stood together before Dad in his hospital room, today she felt they should both announce their marriage, unconventional as its reasons were. “Of course.”

  The front door was unlocked. Mariah went in ahead, calling, “Dad, Tom?”

  The sound of serious male voices came from the living room.

  She stopped in the archway from the hall as her father’s gray eyes and Tom’s blue ones fixed on her. “Dad, I know you said not to come over now, but I’ve got something to tell you.” She swallowed beneath their scrutiny. “I know it’s kind of sudden … You both already knew we …” She trailed off and reached behind her to draw Rory into view. “The two of us are going to Lake Tahoe to get married.”

  Tom swore.

  Beside Mariah, Rory flinched. She understood that Tom was no doubt reacting to who his father was, but it didn’t make it any easier.

  She looked at her dad. On the drive over, she had played out a range of reactions, from disbelief to anger, but she had not even considered what happened next.

  His gray eyes twinkled. “Whose idea was this?”

  “Mine, sir,” Rory spoke up.

  “Have you told Davis?”

  Remembering what Rory had told her about his father’s old threat to get any marriage annulled, Mariah lifted her chin. “We thought we’d wait until we get back.”

  As if he read her thoughts, Rory took her hand. “This time I think we’re a bit too old for Father to find a judge to set it aside.”

  Tom still looked dumbfounded.

  John struggled out of his recliner and shook Rory’s hand. “You’re a chip off the old block, kid, and I mean that kindly.”

  “Thank you,” Rory said, “I think.”

  John appeared to note Tom’s ambivalence. “Look here, this is a brilliant stroke. I suppose tomorrow we … or you two, explain to Davis that a joint family company is the only sensible thing.”

  Tom shifted in his seat. “He’ll never go for it. Just up and merge with his enemy because you kids went out and defied him?”

  Rory frowned.

  “Believe me,” Tom went on, “he plays hardball.”

  “I always knew he pushed the envelope, but I thought he stayed within bounds.” Rory said. “Now Mariah tells me he blackmailed you.”

  Tom put up a hand. “I went to him, son. That puts a little different spin on it, but you still can’t underestimate his vindictiveness.”

  John looked dejected. “This has to work. We’ve only got till the close of business tomorrow to get him to call off First California.”

  They had been naïve. This
was too simple to possibly outflank Davis.

  “There could be another way,” Tom suggested.

  John snapped his fingers. “You mean, what if I call Davis and accept his buyout.”

  “Dad, no.” Yet, Mariah suspected what he was thinking. Take the deal and the million as his revenge, along with the knowledge his daughter had married Davis’s son against his will.

  She turned to Rory. “If Dad agrees to the sale, there’s no reason for us to get married.”

  Rory’s eyes searched hers. “No?”

  Hope filled her chest at the fervor in his voice.

  He went on, “It’s insurance that a Grant is in the family and can’t be bought off or forced out.”

  Mariah wished he would speak of love instead of real estate. Yet, he was right again about their strategy. “Let’s get on the road, then.”

  The Nevada shore of Lake Tahoe was lined with casinos, but Rory didn’t want to stop at one. He imagined Mariah didn’t either after learning Tom Barrett’s downfall had been gambling.

  A twinge of guilt went through him that on the drive up his thoughts had been on his father instead of Mariah, but it was difficult to deal with his new knowledge of how far Davis was willing to go to get at John. Rory had wanted to believe his chicanery of spreading rumors, making political contributions for favors, and paying off First California with new business had been the extent of it. All somewhat distasteful, but legal, even acceptable to many in a city where hardball was played. But blackmail?

  Rory steered through the resort traffic. “Mariah, what did Tom mean about going to my father for the money?”

  “Apparently Tom got into trouble at the bank and Thaddeus Walker suggested Davis as a way out.”

  “That doesn’t change what he was doing.” Rory’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. He found it difficult to swallow that the man he’d seen almost in tears over the betrayal of his best friend kept lashing out like this. “It was blackmail, pure and simple.”

  Mariah touched his arm. “I’d say pure, but not simple.”

  He tried to hold on to his father’s expression of horror when Rory said he might have rigged the Grant Plaza disaster. No, it wasn’t simple, not when a son had to wonder whether his father had two deaths on his conscience.

  Mariah’s hair brushed her shoulders as she looked to the right and left of the busy street. “So, where do we …?”

  “One of those wedding chapels, I suppose.” He’d seen a few already and thought them either garish or tawdry.

  “Will we change clothes there?”

  He hadn’t thought of that, though he’d packed his tux. At the look of uncertainty on Mariah’s face, he trashed the thought. She — and he — deserved to do this right.

  “Let’s find a quiet place to stay away from the crowds and clean up. After we get …” He paused again over the word “married.” “Later, we’ll have a nice dinner and …”

  Sitting close in the bucket seats, he thought Mariah might have flushed at the subtle mention of the night ahead.

  He’d botched asking her. It had started out fine, a romantic picnic with a kiss that scorched them both, and then he’d managed screw up the mention of Grant Development. Sure, that was the reason for the urgency, but no woman would want a proposal couched in commercial terms.

  Rory turned onto a mountain road that led up to a ski resort. There, as it was the off-season, he and Mariah had their pick of picturesque condos. After checking in to a two-bedroom, they went out onto a high wooden deck overlooking a densely forested valley. It was early, a few minutes past five, and now that he no longer had driving to focus on, the awkwardness between them hung heavier than the scent of pine.

  “Do you want to change your mind?” he asked carefully.

  Her slender hands gripped the porch rail. “I’m scared to death.”

  “I’m pretty shaky, myself,” he admitted.

  Last night when he’d thought of getting married, everything had fallen into place. It was not only the best solution to their problems with Grant and DCI, but once he’d determined to go through with it, a weight had lifted from his chest. After phoning Lyle and testing it on somebody else to good advantage, he had slept through the night with a calm sense of certainty.

  Now, he wasn’t so sure. Questions roiled in his mind, and, he was sure, in Mariah’s as well. Would they get back the sense of intimacy that had been building between them at Ventana, at McMillan’s, and the night he’d stayed over at her apartment? Were either of them prepared to make their marriage a serious one, or was this going to be a corporate merger? Though she had assured him Lyle was a friend, and the big man had assisted in getting them together, Rory was reminded that, single or married, Mariah could have her pick of men.

  Standing with the backdrop of sky and forest, Mariah looked so lovely it sent a shaft of longing through him. He wanted was to take her in his arms and pour out his jumbled thoughts and feelings, to find out what was in her head.

  Before he could move, she turned to him. Her expression was direct. “So, are we going to do this thing or not?”

  He put a hand on her arm, but her gaze did not soften. With a sense of opportunity lost, he drew back. “Put on your gold dress, Miss Grant,” he made his tone light, “and prepare to change your name.”

  Rory took his bag into the spare room, leaving the master to Mariah. He showered and when he heard the water running behind the wall, his imagination took over as it had in the marble shower at McMillan’s. Her blond hair darkened and streaming, her breasts and stomach sheeting water that ran down into her golden thatch. If not for his awkward proposal, he could be in there washing her back.

  He sighed.

  Maybe he should have said he loved her. Would that have put a light in her amber eyes instead of this determination to go through with it to save her family legacy? Yet, so many folks bandied those three little words about cheaply. As an untested young man, he’d pledged himself to Mariah and then broken his vow. At the altar with Elizabeth, he’d given a promise of love when he should have known what he felt for his wife was a deep and abiding friendship.

  Of course, Mariah had not said she loved him.

  Though he could have gotten by without a shave, he scraped a blade over his chin. The spicy cologne he’d packed was not his usual and he hoped she’d notice. He brushed his damp hair and left it curling above his collar. Before he went into the living room, he opened the velvet box and looked at the ring. It had been an extravagance when he’d forced it on her in Carmel, a guy throwing his money around. But hadn’t there been a crystal of truth when he slipped it onto her left hand?

  On this perfect blue day, Mariah was to be married. At seven o’clock in June, nearly the longest day of the year, the sun still rode high over the Sierra Nevadas. Ringed by mountains studded with virgin forest, the cobalt lake rippled with whitecaps. Along the roads that rimmed it lay the evidence of man: houses, hotels, and ski runs, paler green slashes against the verdant slopes.

  Cruising past the more gaudy marriage mills, Mariah was turned off repeatedly. She wondered if her reluctance was due to the butterflies in her stomach.

  Stop it, she thought. This had been her dream, to become Mrs. Rory Campbell. She should be delirious with joy, for she was in love with him again, as though their years apart had never been. Unfortunately, this was a new Rory, more complex, darker, and conflicted even now over his father.

  Truth to tell, wasn’t she also changed, embittered by their past and the lonely years in between? Even as she went to the altar, wasn’t she holding back because she sensed that he was?

  “There.” Rory pointed toward the blue lake.

  The small wedding chapel on the shore occupied a rustic log structure, somebody’s ancient summer cabin turned commercial. Behind the quaint structure, a wooden pier jutted over the water. As he pulled the Porsche up and gave the chapel a scrutiny, Mariah’s nervous stomach tried to perform a back flip.

  “What do you say?” Ror
y asked.

  She took a long breath. “This should do.”

  On the way into the chapel, he held her hand. His palm was dry and his grip firm.

  Despite the quaint exterior, inside they found marriage mill kitsch. A churchlike foyer with dark wood paneling and a guest register overlooked the main chapel. Faded red carpet, worn pews and a bare altar did little to recommend it. Dust motes slanted in the sun through painted stained glass flowers.

  Rory spied a bell and rang it. A moment later, they were in the motherly hands of Reverend Molly Sparks. Blond and bespectacled, she wore a knee-length black robe over her sturdy body. Her Reeboks matched her robe. She consulted a checklist on her clipboard, information for the license, ID, did they want music …

  Rory cast what Mariah interpreted as a distasteful look through the archway. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. Sure, they had eloped and were here for the quickie version, but this place made her feel sad, with its dark, claustrophobic walls. With a feeling that she couldn’t breathe, she nearly rushed out the door. Maybe they could find someplace else, but the last one they had passed advertised you could be married by Elvis.

  What about a nice Justice of the Peace? But it was after hours and they couldn’t afford to wait until tomorrow.

  She spied the sunrays at the window.

  Rory squeezed her hand. “Do you think we could do this outside?” he asked the Reverend. “Maybe on the pier?”

  Whatever they wanted. Did they want it videotaped?

  “No,” said Rory, while Mariah said, “Yes.”

  A smile broke over Molly’s plump features.

  “No video for ‘On The Spot’ to get hold of,” he insisted. “I’ve had enough of those guys.”

  Mariah looked at Rory with his crisp jaw line and ink-dark hair, at his tuxedo with the ruby studs, and wanted the tape with an ache that matched the feeling she’d had on the dock when she had looked at his hair and thought of gray there. In the years to come, they’d be captured as they were today, rather than with the fading tinge of memory.