Tangled Web (13 page)

Hope grinned and countered dryly, “Women in Houston don't wear furs because they're cold.”

No, Chase thought, discomfitted, they wore furs, like they wore jewels, because they were filthy rich and wanted everyone to know it. Which brought him back to the original reason he had tracked her down. Was the poor performance of the store the reason she was putting her jewelry up for sale? Was she in personal financial jeopardy as well, fearful of losing her house? That was the only reason he could figure that would motivate her to sell the jewels. He was sure Hope knew that Edmond would've wanted the jewelry to stay in the family if at all possible, for sentimental reasons. If possible, Hope would have honored that wish. But if that were the case, why wouldn't she just tell him so? he wondered. He was frustrated anew at the way she'd cut him off.

Hope confessed quietly, “I wish Mr. Fitzgerald hadn't called you.”

Chase didn't think he could stand to see her looking so sad. He watched as she went through the sensual process of inspecting the next coat. Her slender hand moved over the silky fur with sure, sweeping motions and he found himself wondering what it would be like to have that same hand on his skin. Or better yet, to have Hope naked, wrapped in one of those furs. Had she ever vamped like that for his father? Would she do it for him?

His throat dry, he said, “Mr. Fitzgerald knows some of the pieces are heirlooms, and he wanted to give me the first shot at them.” Without warning, the coat slid off the heavy hanger. Hope was left awkwardly juggling the coat, clipboard and pen. Chase stepped forward to rescue the coat before it fell to the floor, and as he put it back on the hanger, asked gently, “Hope, are you sure you want to sell everything?” More than ever, he wished it wasn't greed that motivated her.

Hope's chin tensed stubbornly. “Yes.”

Chase could tell she resented his intrusion, although she was doing her best to cover it. And maybe that was fair. Still, he didn't like her secretiveness.

“I just thought you might want to save a piece or two for Joey and his wife someday. The emerald pendant, for instance.”

The one that had belonged to his grandmother, Hope thought. She faced him awkwardly. “I don't know what to say, Chase.” Obviously, she thought, he felt she was being a little bit callous being able to sell the jewels at all. But she could hardly tell him that she had no choice but to give in to Russell Morris's blackmail. Then Chase would know the truth about her marriage to his father. He'd know Edmond wasn't the strong, virile man he had pretended to be, and that he had kept secrets from Chase. If Chase knew that, he would be hurt. Worse, his view of his father would be changed forever. Lessened. She couldn't have that. Especially now that Edmond was no longer here to defend himself or explain his actions to his son.

“Hope, are you in some kind of trouble I don't know about?” Chase asked.

“No,” Hope denied promptly, turning back to her task of inventorying the unsold minks.

Chase knew he was pushing it, but he had to ask. “Then why are you selling the jewelry, Hope?” He followed her over to the next rack. She tried to keep him from being able to see her face,
but he positioned himself so she had no choice but to be aware of him. “Why now?” he persisted. He was aware they were close enough for him to see the warm vapor of her breath against the chill of the room; her nipples had tightened visibly, too. He felt an answering pull in his own body. Before he could think, he was moving toward her, watching her dark blue eyes widen, her lips part. She was so sweet and so near he could almost taste the kiss. And though he sensed she wouldn't, couldn't resist such a move on his part, at least not initially, he drew back.

Chase swallowed hard and forced his mind back to the jewelry. “Why sell all of it?” he asked abruptly, trying not to notice how relieved Hope looked when he took a second step back, away from her.

She shrugged, the evasive motion drawing his eyes to her slender shoulders, and away from the fullness of her breasts. “I thought it was time I moved on with my life.”

She still wasn't looking at him directly. Except for her slowly growing closeness to him, he hadn't noticed her warming up to any other men, or dating again. But then, maybe this was just the first step, a step that would get her out of mourning. While the pragmatist in him applauded that, another side of him was deeply jealous. Telling himself he didn't want her doing anything she would regret later, he probed, “And you don't want to keep any of it for sentimental value, if not for Joey and his wife, for yourself?”

Briefly, a look of pain crossed her face and was quickly masked. “I have my memories of my life with your father, Chase,” she said, all the love she'd felt for Edmond reflected in the inherent tenderness of her voice. “That's all the memento I need.”

Looking at the serenity on her face as she finished, Chase could see that was true. And knowing how she'd been brought up, in relative poverty, perhaps that was to be expected; she would value cold, hard cash in the bank over any pretty baubles in the safe. Nevertheless, he couldn't help feeling disappointed. He had expected her to be more sentimental. And maybe she would have been, he reasoned further, had she the luxury.

“Are you worried about the fate of your job with the store?” he asked gently. Was that what was behind her sudden actions? Was that what was giving her the murderous migraine headaches?

At his question, her expression changed, becoming defensive
and irritated again. “Your mother is gunning pretty hard to have me fired. Or hadn't you noticed?” she queried dryly.

“Oh, I noticed. I also noticed she doesn't seem to be succeeding.”

Hope lifted a dissenting brow. “The night is young yet, as they say.” She sighed.

But Hope was strong, Chase thought, and smart and determined. Rosemary, as much as he loved her, was all selfishness and hot air. The other board members knew it, too, which was probably why no one was paying particular attention to her. They knew, long-range, they'd never be able to count on her sustained interest in the store. No, once Rosemary had plenty of money to spend again, she'd be off to Europe.

Hope studied Chase. The cool air in the room had brought out color on his cheeks. “I know you don't understand about the jewelry.” Briefly she searched for the words to explain. “I'll just feel better if I'm a little more solvent, with assets I can get to if I need them.”

And, Chase thought, maybe it was time she got on with her life, even if she was unable to say that to him, for fear it would sound as if she were demeaning her marriage. Suddenly, despite the unexpected surge of jealousy, he wanted that for her, too. He wanted her to go on, to have a new and fulfilled life, to find a husband for herself, a father for Joey. She was still young. She deserved to have everything. “You'd call on me if you needed help, wouldn't you?”

“Yes, I would call on you,” she said, her eyes meeting his frankly. “But only if I had no alternative.”

He nodded, accepting that, too. He had clearly overreacted. It was just his imagination going into overdrive. She wasn't in any sort of trouble. She was just taking healthy, normal steps to try to sort out her life. Her moving on reassured him. Still, he felt jealous and unsettled and he disliked that almost as much as the way she kept holding him at bay.

 

H
OPE STAYED
where she was long after Chase left the cold-storage room. That had been close, she thought, feeling the sticky perspiration beneath her arms. His questions had been far too close for
comfort. If they hadn't been in the cold-storage room, he would have seen her sweating. And he would've known…

Why hadn't she realized Chase would find out about the jewelry? She was lucky Rosemary hadn't heard about it and used the information to further discredit her. Maybe she should have gone to New York or Los Angeles to sell them but that would have raised suspicion, too. People would have wondered how she could leave town when the store was in the midst of a crucial transition.

She had to stay on and see this through, for her sake and for Edmond's. She wanted people to know he had been right to trust her, and that she not only could and would do a good job but that she cared deeply about Barrister's.

As for Russell, well, she'd get rid of him soon, as she had gotten rid of him before. And when that happened, she would no longer have to be so excruciatingly careful. Maybe then she could let down her guard a little with Chase. She hoped so because he was a nicer, more generous man then she had ever realized. And she needed strong, caring people like him in her life.

If Edmond were alive, maybe it would've been possible to think of Chase only as her stepson. But he wasn't. And she knew now they would never have the kind of familial regard for each other Edmond had wished for them, nor could she in all honesty imagine them being just friends. Because every time they were together in an even remotely intimate setting, their fledgling feelings of camaraderie and understanding invariably led to something else, something sexy, something she was afraid, once started, would not be able to be stopped. The truth was she wanted Chase. And he was beginning to want her, too. The near-kiss in the vault proved it.

Heat flooded her face as she imagined how she might have responded to him if he had ignored all common sense and reason and kissed her. Just thinking about his lips moving slowly, sensually over hers made her limp with longing. Hope thought of Edmond then and felt somewhat guilty.

Still, it had been so long since she had been really kissed, Hope thought, beginning to tremble with a mixture of thwarted anticipation and nerves. And she'd never been kissed by a man as sexy and indomitable and as ruggedly good-looking as Chase. Would
it be as wonderful as her heart promised, as deeply fulfilling? Sadly, she thought, that path was forbidden to them both.

She sighed, fighting the depth of her disappointment. No one had ever told her life was fair, but there were times, like now, when the hand of fate seemed almost too cruel to be borne.

“What's the matter, slugger?”

Joey kicked at a tuft of grass in the manicured lawn and tucked his hands even further into the pockets of his grass-stained jeans. “Nothing,” he muttered, never looking up.

“Doesn't look like nothing to me,” Chase said gently. Mindful of the fact Joey'd just returned from Little League practice, Chase continued, “Rough practice?”

Although he had never thought of himself as the paternal type, he found it remarkably natural and easy to take over that role with his half brother, and not just for his father's sake, but for his own. Joey was a great kid. It gave Chase a lot of satisfaction to be close to him, to be his pal. And right now Joey looked like he needed a pal.

“No rougher than usual.” Joey shrugged.

“What happened?” When no answer was forthcoming, he prodded again. “Did the coach yell at you?” Chase knew how intense some grown-ups could be.

“The coach didn't yell at me. I screwed up during batting practice again.”

“And?”

“And the Bateman twins made fun of me. They started calling me Four Eyes and said I couldn't hit the side of a barn if I was standing right beside it. The coach made 'em stop but not before everyone else on the team started laughing.” He looked up at Chase in abject misery. “I might as well face it,” he lamented passionately. “I'm never going to be any good.”

“Sure you will,” Chase soothed, ruffling Joey's dark hair. His
hair was like his mother's: it felt soft and thick and springy beneath his fingertips. “It just takes time to develop batting skill. How long have you been playing?”

“This is my third year.” Joey blinked up at him hopefully from behind the thick lenses of his glasses. “You really think I'm gonna improve, Chase?”

“We'll never know unless you practice, will we? Run up and get your bat and ball and we'll give it a go, okay?”

“Okay.” Looking noticeably happier, Joey sprinted off toward the house.

At nearly seven, the back lawn was quiet and peaceful. A high white brick wall kept it private. An abundance of flowers and shrubbery kept it beautiful. Much of the landscaping was new, put in by Hope. Like her, the lawn was beautiful and delicate looking, but hardy underneath.

Gazing at it, Chase's thoughts turned to Hope. It was hard to believe how much everything had changed since he had been home. He'd never thought he would be close to her, or that he'd want to be close. To his frustration, she still kept putting up walls between them, at the least expected times. She wanted to be close to him, for Joey's sake. She didn't want his help when it came to handling her own personal stress. Maybe that was the way it should be, he sighed. And maybe it wasn't. All he knew was that he wanted more from a woman than just a cursory relationship at her convenience. He'd had that before, with Lucy. It hadn't worked. Hope would either have to let him into her life, or step back, and let him out. She couldn't have it both ways. It was simply too disappointing.

The back door slammed. Jerked from his reverie, Chase turned to see Joey trotting out, a bewildered but compliant Hope in tow. “Mom's gonna catch!” Joey said, pointing to the mask and mitt in Hope's hand.

Chase smiled and strode forward to join them. This wasn't what he had counted on, either, but now that it was happening he wasn't so opposed. “Where'd you get all that stuff?” he asked genially, referring to the protective chest gear designed specifically for catchers. It hadn't been around when he was growing up.

“Dad bought it for me,” Joey said confidently. “He used to help me work on my batting sometimes. He'd pitch and Mom would catch.”

Conjuring up the mental image of that, Chase felt a moment's envy. It all sounded so nice and normal and happy, so unlike his own childhood. Then the house had been more like an armed camp than a home. His admiration for Hope grew. And he felt bad, for misjudging her all these years. She'd not only made his dad happy, but she'd also given him a real sense of family.

Hope looked at him questioningly, clearly wondering why he was so quiet. “Did you want to catch?”

Joey rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath. “Don't let her pitch,” Joey put in quickly, turning to Chase man-to-man. “She can't pitch worth a darn. Sorry, Mom.” He cast her an apologetic look over his shoulder. “But it's the truth.”

“Just call me Wild Thing,” Hope retorted dryly with a mockingly put-upon look that let them both know she hadn't really take offense.

Chase slid on his glove. He had a feeling it was going to be harder than usual to keep his mind focused on what he was doing. “Batter up,” he said. He sauntered to the “mound” and Hope, slipping on her catcher's gear, hunkered down behind “home plate.” She had caught her hair at the back of her neck, and her face was obscured by the mask. There was still something very sexy about the way she looked in her faded, straight-legged jeans, oversize hunter-green-and-navy-blue rugby shirt, and sweat socks and high-topped sneakers.

Realizing he was thinking about her like a woman he'd very much like to have in his bed, Chase felt a renewed surge of guilt. He forced his mind back to the game.

Batting practice lasted an hour. Darkness fell and they had to turn on the floodlights to see but that only made it all the more fun. Chase would've liked to think they'd made eons of progress in Joey's ability to hit, but it simply wasn't true. Improving Joey's batting noticeably and permanently would take a lot of time and effort on his part, and maybe that was something he could do for Joey before he left again.

“I'm hungry,” Joey announced as they gathered up the gear. He turned to Hope. “What can I have to eat?”

Hope looked amenable to anything. “What do you want?”

Joey thought long and hard. “A cheeseburger, fries, and a shake.”

Though Carmelita was off for the night, Hope didn't blink. “What kind of shake?”

“Chocolate.”

She grinned as if she should have known. “Of course,” she said dryly. “Chase. What about you? Did all that pitching and fielding work up an appetite?”

Don't accept, a small voice inside Chase said. You're already far too attached to her already. But out loud he heard himself saying, “A cheeseburger sounds terrific.”

“Better hit the shower,” Hope said to Joey, as they entered the house; it was nearly eight-thirty. “Then you can come down and eat.”

“Okay, Mom,” Joey said.

Chase settled across from Hope at the kitchen table, while she went to work putting hamburger patties on to fry. He noticed the exertion had put color into her cheeks and a relaxed sparkle into her eyes that hadn't been there for days; he was glad Joey had thought to include her. He was glad she was such a good sport.

“Thanks for working with him tonight,” she said as she salted frozen fries and put them into the oven. “He misses his dad. Sometimes I forget how much.”

Then, as if realizing what she'd just said, she touched a hand to her soft, unglossed lips, and added, “I'm sorry. That was thoughtless of me.” She sent Chase an apologetic look. “He was your father, too. You must miss him.”

Touched by her concern for his feelings, Chase took a long pull on his soda. The can was damp with condensation. He rubbed his wet palm on his jeans. “Yeah, I do miss him. But not as much as Joey. As much as it pains me to admit it,” he continued sadly, “Dad and I weren't all that close.”

Hope didn't deny Edmond had felt that way, too; rather she looked as if this were old news to her. Apparently his father had confided his frustration about their lack of father-son closeness. Chase liked the fact that Hope was ready and willing to listen to him; he hadn't had much of that in his life. But he hated the fact that she already knew all the negative about him. She didn't know his side of things.

“Why weren't you close?” Hope asked gently, looking for a moment as if she needed and wanted to get to know and understand him as much as he did her. “I know he loved you.”

Chase shrugged. Restless, he put his soda aside and got up to roam the room. Seeing the hamburgers needed turning, he picked up the spatula and obliged. “Maybe it goes back to the relationship between my parents. They were always fighting. I didn't want to take sides in any of their battles and if I got too close to either one, that's what it felt like I was doing. What about you? Do you miss Dad?”

Hope got out the Dutch-chocolate ice cream and began ladling scoops into the blender. “Yes, I do miss him,” she said quietly, pausing long enough to meet his gaze. “I miss him terribly. But it's not as bad for me as it is for Joey.” She turned away and got out the milk from the refrigerator, adding with an absent sigh, “Maybe because I always knew it was coming.”

Chase stared at her in shock, the sizzling hamburgers forgotten. “What do you mean?” he asked hoarsely. His father had had a sudden, massive coronary on the tennis courts. “Did you know he had a bad heart?” If so, Chase thought, she had been the only one.

Briefly Hope looked stricken, as if she had inadvertently said something she shouldn't have. She recovered quickly, saying, “No. We had no warning about a possible heart attack. It was…the age thing, I guess, that made me think that way.” Lowering her gaze to her task, she picked and chose her words carefully. “He was so much older than I was. He used to worry about not being around until Joey grew up. And I worried about that, too. Because he was worried.” Grimness crept into her tone briefly before she forced herself to lighten up. “But he took very good care of himself and he gave Joey a lot of memories and a lot of love, so—”

“No regrets?” Chase asked softly.

“No regrets.” She looked at him, relieved he understood.

“About Joey.” She wet her lips. “I'm glad you're here for him, too, Chase. He needs a man in his life.” She paused. “All little boys do.”

Footsteps on the back stairs signaled Joey's impending arrival. It saved them from the intimacy of the moment, for Chase found himself wondering what it would be like to be here every night, sharing Joey's ups and downs and sharing Hope's. Before, the idea of being in one place had seemed confining. In many ways it still did, but for the first time in his life Chase was beginning to understand the lure of home and family. At its best, it meant
love and stability and warmth, problems that could be shared and solved together. And for the first time, he was achingly aware of all he had missed both growing up and now.

 

“Y
OU SURPRISE ME
, Hope,” Russell said. “I give you two weeks and you got back to me in what, three days?”

It wasn't a willingness to be blackmailed, or a spirit of cooperation, Hope thought grimly. It was the fierce urge to be rid of him. She knew she would never have a moment's peace until he was gone. Only then would she feel that she and Joey were safe.

Aware her nerves were jangling, she handed him the envelope. “This is all I could get.”

He gave the flat envelope a discerning look, not deigning to open it himself. “How much?”

She swallowed. Now was the tough part. “One hundred thousand dollars.”

His look turned even uglier before he adopted that smooth, falsely soothing, aristocratic tone she hated. “I trust that you're kidding, Hope.” He drummed his fingers on the white linen tablecloth. “You know one hundred thousand dollars is far, far less than what I asked for or need. And you also know I don't like to be played with.”

A chill went down her spine at the grim reminder. Russell Morris was the kind of man who always got precisely what he wanted, no matter who he had to hurt, or what he had to do. “I am not playing with you,” she whispered. “It's all I could get. I sold everything. Even my wedding rings, for God's sake.”

“Yes.” His glance raked her slender fingers. “I see that you did. But that doesn't solve our problem, does it, Hope?” He sipped his Scotch calmly.

Hope watched him in frustration, angry as well as sickened. She balled her hands into fists. “I don't know what you want from me,” she admonished impatiently.

He smiled. “Try another one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

Reminding herself of his utter lack of conscience and her equally strong need to remain calm, she retorted matter-of-factly, “I don't have it.”

“Then get it.”

“No,” she said firmly, her mind made up about that much. If she did that, this would never end. “I won't. I've done far too much in terms of giving in to your demands as it is. I did so to get rid of you but if you continue to harass me, Russell, I swear I will go to the police.”

“And tell them what? That I'm extorting money from you?” He sat back, unimpressed. “They won't believe you. It'll be your word against mine.”

Like it had been in the past, Hope thought. Steadying herself with a sip of her mineral water, Hope reminded him pointedly, “I'm a Barrister now—”

“A Barrister with an unsavory past,” he interrupted cruelly.

“Or need I remind you?”

No, she thought, he didn't have to remind her. “I repeat, Russell. This is all you're going to get.”

“Perhaps you'd prefer to pay me in human terms.” He grinned evilly.

The sick feeling in her middle intensified. “I don't know what you mean.” She hated this cat-and-mouse game, but it was one he was well versed in.

“Oh, I think you do. I think if you search that pretty little mind of yours you'll be able to come up with what I want. What was owed me all these years. I don't think a court would take too kindly to that, do you, Hope? The way you cheated me out of what was rightfully mine?”

“I don't—”

“The hell you don't.” He leaned forward urgently and his eyes fixed on hers with murderous intent. “Let's cut the bull. I know about your sin of omission, and I have known for years. But until Edmond Barrister died there was really no point in confronting you. Once you inherited, though, it was very different.” He straightened smugly. “Now you have money. You have power. And you owe me, Hope.”