Slow Heat in Heaven (44 page)

"And I would do it again." Father and daughter looked at each other. "Even if it meant burning in hell for eternity, I would love Monique Boudreaux again." He leaned back in his chair again and rested his head against the wicker. "Macy wasn't
a. . .
a warm woman, Schyler. She equated passion with a loss of self-control. She was incapable of feeling it."

"Monique Boudreaux was?"

A ghost of a smile lifted his pale lips. "Ah, yes," he breathed. "She was. She did everything passionately, laugh, scold, make love." Schyler watched his eyes become transfixed, as though he were looking into a mirror of memory, seeing a happier time. "She was a very beautiful woman."

Schyler was amazed by the expression on his face. She'd never seen Cotton's features look that soft. His vulnerability affected her deeply. "I think Cash is a beautiful man."

Instantaneously Cotton's expression changed again. It grew hard and ugly. His smiling lips turned downward with contempt. "He's done a real number on you, hasn't he? You actually trust him."

"He's been invaluable to me. I depend on him. He's the most intelligent, instinctive forester around. Everybody says so."

"Dammit, I know that," Cotton snarled. "I depend on his professional judgment, too, but I don't crawl into bed with him. I don't even turn my back on him for fear I'll get a knife in it."

"Cash isn't like that," she said, wishing she believed it herself.

"Isn't he? When he was telling you about Monique and me, did he mention all his threats?"

"Threats?"

"I see he didn't."

"I know the two of you have had several vicious arguments. One being the night he brought me home from Thibodaux Pond. Remember that? It was right after Mama died."

"I remember," he answered guardedly.

"Cash helped me that night. He wasn't the one who plied me with beer. You unfairly blamed him for my condition."

"Cash never does anything out of the goodness of his heart. He might not have been the one that got you drunk, but don't be misled into thinking he was concerned with your welfare."

"What did the two of you argue about that night?"

"I don't remember."

He was lying, too, just as Cash had. "Monique?"

"I don't remember. Probably. When Macy died, Cash demanded that I marry his mother."

Schyler searched his face, looking for the soft expression of love that had been there only moments ago. "Why didn't you, Daddy? If you were so in love with her, why didn't you marry her when Mama died?" Feeling guilty she asked, "Because of Tricia and me?"

"No. Because of a pledge I had made Macy."

"But she was dead."

"That didn't matter. I'd given her my word. I couldn't marry Monique. She understood and was resigned to it. Cash wasn't."

"Can you blame him? You made his mother's life hell. Did you know she had miscarried your child?"

Cotton's eyes clouded with tears. "Damn him for telling you that."

"Is it true?"

"Yes. But I didn't know she was pregnant until afterwards. I swear to God I didn't."

She believed him. He might have lied by omission, but he'd never told her a lie that was an outright contradiction to truth. "Mornque lived in a very gray area, as outcast of society. She couldn't even observe her religion because of her life with you."

"It was her choice as much as mine to live as she did."

"But when Mama died, when you had a chance to rectify that, you didn't."

"I couldn't," he repeated on a shout. "I told Cash that. Now I'm telling you. I
couldn't."
Cotton paused to draw a deep breath. "That's when Cash swore on his mother's rosary that he would get vengeance. He accused me of making her a whore. He promised not to stop until he's brought ruination to me and to Belle Terre." He gasped for sufficient oxygen. "Why do you think a man with his expertise has hung 'round here all these years, living like white trash down there in that shanty on the bayou?"

"I asked him that."

"And what did he say?"

"He said he had promised his mother on her deathbed that he would never leave Belle Terre as long as you were alive. She asked him to watch over you."

That gave Cotton pause. For a moment, he stared sightlessly at Schyler, then into near space. Finally, he shook his head stubbornly. "I don't believe that for a minute. He's been biding his time. Waiting like a panther about to pounce. You came back from England with sex-deprived gonads and
bam!,
he saw his opportunity to finally get his revenge. Because I was laid up, he had access to you that he'd never had before. He took full advantage, didn't he?"

"No."

"Didn't he?"

"No!"

Cotton's eyes narrowed to slits. "Didn't he seize a golden opportunity to pay me back for screwing his mother? Everybody around here knows how I feel about you, Schyler. The boy's not dense. If he wanted to fuck me real good, the best way he could do it was fuck the daughter I love best."

Schyler crammed her fist against her lips and shook her head vehemently while tears of doubt filled her eyes.

"He's as cunning as a swamp fox, Schyler," Cotton rasped. "Monique was proud. She never would take any money from me. They barely scraped by. Growing up as he did messed with Cash's mind. He's warped. He hates us.

He has all Monique's charm, but none of her compassion or sweetness."

Cotton wagged his finger at her in warning. "You cannot trust him. Do, and we're doomed. He'll do anything, say anything, to bring us down. Don't doubt that for a single instant."

Schyler, unable to tolerate another word, turned and fled.

It wasn't true, she told herself.

By the time Schyler reached the landing office, however, the doubts that Cotton had raised obscured her certainty like a thundercloud blotting out the sun.

She braked and shoved open the car door. Cash's pickup was parked beside one of the scales. He was here, not in the forest. She was glad she wouldn't have to chase him down. This confrontation couldn't wait. She wanted to know, and know immediately, that Cotton was wrong. She needed to know that she was right.

She bolted into the office and swung the door closed behind her with a loud crash. Cash was sitting at the desk, entering data into an adding machine. He glanced up. His brow was beetled, his lips a hard, narrow line. "You're not going to believe this, Schyler. Ken Howell's been screwing you."

"So have you."

Her voice was soft, but chilly and taut. It was obviously not what he had expected. His brow gradually smoothed itself out. He regarded her carefully. She was standing rigidly against the door, blinking rapidly with indignation, like a temperance marcher who'd just detected demon rum in the punch. His eyes leisurely swept down her highly strung posture, then back up. He casually tossed the pencil he'd been using onto the littered desk and stacked his hands behind his head.

"That's right, I have. And so far I haven't heard you complaining about it."

Her breasts shuddered with her uneven breath. "Why do you? Why did you want to in the first place?"

"Why?" he repeated on an incredulous laugh. When he saw that she wasn't being facetious, he answered flippantly. "It feels good."

"That's the only reason, because it feels good?" Her voice was hoarse. "Then any woman would do, right? So why me?"

He lowered his hands and stood up. Coming around the corner of the desk, he propped himself against the edge of it, studying her all the while. "What brought this on all of a sudden? A bad case of cramps?"

"Just answer me, Cash," she said in a shrill, impatient voice. "Just about any woman could give you an erection and make it feel good, so why me?"

He gnawed on the corner of his lip. "You want it straight?"

"I want it straight."

"Okay," he said insolently. "I guess you just make it feel better than anybody has in a long time. I wanted you that day I saw you sleeping under the tree. Every time I saw you after that, I wanted you a little bit more. Until I had you."

"That must have been thrilling for you. My capitulation."

"It was," he said with brutal honesty. "It was thrilling for you, too."

She bit her lip hard to keep from crying. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"When?"

"After the first time."

"Because you looked down at me like you expected an apology. I never apologize to a woman. For anything. But especially not for screwing her."

"You had what you wanted. I had surrendered. I'd even come to you. Why didn't you just leave it at that?"

He looked at her strangely. "Because I wasn't satisfied. I'm still not. I like your tits, your legs, your ass, your mouth, those breathy little sounds you make when you come, and the way you give head. Now should I go on or stop with that?"

Schyler's emotions waged war. The lady that Macy had groomed wanted to slap his face and storm out. The woman in her wanted to fling herself against him, kiss him, love him. Cotton's daughter wanted to scratch and claw at him. She wanted to inflict pain that would hurt him as much as the cold detachment in his voice was hurting her.

"Why. . . why did you take me last night at Belle Terre?"

"I got the urge."

"Why in that particular way?"

"Don't pretend you didn't like it. You were dripping."

"I didn't say I didn't like it," she yelled. "I asked you why you did it then and there."

"Because it felt—"

"Good?"

"Oui!"
he shouted. "And right. It felt right. I went with the flow, okay? I didn't stop to reason it out. My cock was doing my thinking."

"From what I hear, it usually does."

He made a hissing sound through his teeth. "Look, you wanted it. I wanted it. I was hard. You were creamy. We did it and it was fine with both of us at the time." He stood up and advanced on her. The lock of hair hanging over his brow was trembling with anger. "So what's the big fuckin' deal, huh? Why the cross-examination? Can we drop this and talk about something important, like how your brother-in-law has been cleverly skimming off the books for years?" His eyes turned dark. "Or better yet, why don't you climb on my lap and do something about this monstrous hard-on I've grown as a result of our conversation?"

"That's not funny."

"You're damn right it's not."

Seething, Schyler said tightly, 'Tell me about Ken."

"Simple. He's a crook. He's the reason the company's been losing money in spite of steady business. I don't know if Cotton knew and overlooked it because Howell is family, or if he's gone dotty in his old age. It was Howell who robbed Endicott. Apparently he endorsed Cotton's signature on their check, cashed it and pocketed the money, but failed to mention that order and advance payment to anybody." He waved his hand toward the ledgers on the desk. "Those records are shot full of holes that he made."

"How do you know all this?"

"Glee uncovered the number-juggling Howell had done to make the sums come out right."

"Glee?"

"You said he needed something to do. I took duplicate records over to him. He's been going over them. He said they weren't—"

"Who gave you the authority to do that?" Schyler was furious.

"What?"

"You heard me."

He tossed back his hair with a jerk of his head. "Let me get this straight." His left knee unhitched, throwing him slightly off center and into an arrogant stance. "You're upset because Glee turned up the goods to send your ex- lover to jail?"

"No," she ground out. "I'm upset because you assumed authority that I didn't give you."

"Oh, I see," he said coldly, "I overstepped my bounds."

"That's right."

"Does this have anything to do with our previous discussion? Am I overstepping my bounds every time I take Miss Schyler Crandall to bed?"

"Isn't that part of the kick for you? Overstepping bounds? Flaunting authority? Trespassing? Isn't that why you make love to me?"

"I don't make love."

Schyler tried not to flinch. "I see. You don't make love. You rut."

He made a dismissive motion with his shoulder. "I guess that's as good a word as any." He saw the pale, bleak expression settle over her face. It brought a soft curse to his lips. "I call a spade a spade. I don't believe in the word love, so I don't use it. It doesn't mean anything. All I've ever seen people do in the name of love is hurt each other. Your father claimed to love my mother."

"He did. He told me so this morning."

"Then why did he stay with a woman he didn't love, didn't even like? Because this grand love he claimed to have for my mother wasn't as strong as his own goddamn ambition and greed. My mother claimed to love me." He swiped the air in front of him to cancel out the protestation he saw rising from Schyler's lips.

"But when she died, you know who she was crying for? Cotton. Cotton! Who'd treated her like shit. She cried because she didn't want to leave Cotton." He shook his head in bewilderment and disgust. He laughed bitterly. "There's just no percentage in this love bullshit. The inventor of it got nailed to a cross. So explain its attraction. Sure, you can toss the word around if it makes things look prettier than they are. If it justifies the reasons people do things, go ahead. Use the word. But it doesn't mean a damn thing."

Schyler said gruffly, "I'm sorry for you."

"Save it. I don't want anything to do wife love. Not if it means letting people mop up the floor with me and then begging them to do it again. Fuck passive resistance. Cash Boudreaux fights back."

"An eye for an eye."

"Precisely. And then some."

"So since Cotton used your mother, you felt justified to use me the same way." Her eyes moved up to meet his. There was no life in them, no compassion or human warmth. They reflected only her own disillusioned features, "Didn't you?"

"Is that what you think?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes. That's what I think." Her heart begged him to deny it. He didn't.

"I take it Cotton opened your eyes to me," he said calmly.

"He said you threatened to rain him. Did you?" Cash said nothing. "You swore on your mother's rosary to destroy him and Belle Terre. Does that include frightening me? Tampering with the equipment? Causing delays? Making certain that a contract that would put the company on solid footing again doesn't get filled?"

His eyes glittered. "You're a smart lady. You figure it out."

"And it would be a big joke on all of us if you were sleeping with me at the same time, wouldn't it?"

"It brings a smile to my face just thinking about it."

But his face wasn't smiling. It was remote and cold. Wanting to crumple, Schyler forced herself to stand tall. "I want you out of here immediately. Don't come back. Don't go around the loggers either."

"You think you can stop me?"

"I won't have to. You wield tremendous influence over them. You could probably get them to walk off their jobs this afternoon." She tipped her head to one side. "But I wonder if they would go on strike if it meant giving up those promised bonuses. I wonder what they'd do to you if they suspected you of sabotaging the shipments and preventing them from getting those bonuses."

"I see you've got it all thought out."

"I want you off Belle Terre within a week. Vacate that house. Burn it to the ground for all I care. Just don't come back. If I ever see you on my property again, I'll shoot you."

He tried to stare her down, but she didn't succumb. He shrugged, went to the door, and pulled it open. "You'll never make the deadline without me, you know."

"I'll die trying."

He gave her a slow, assessing glance. "Maybe so."

Even the click of the latch when he closed the door behind him sounded as ominous as a gunshot.