Tears of the Renegade (25 page)

It had all been just a game. That was all she could think of that night. Just a game.

She didn't know how all of the shares had been originally divided; when she'd married Vance, she'd known only that the family had owned fifty-one percent of the stock, and the rest of it was in others' hands. Others owned chunks of shares, but with the majority in family hands it hadn't mattered. Imogene had owned fifteen percent, Preston fifteen percent, and Vance
fifteen percent. Susan had inherited Vance's shares. That had left six percent of the family majority, which she had always assumed was scattered around to distant cousins. She hadn't known of Cord's existence until the day he'd come back; he'd been gone for so long that no one talked about him. But now it was evident that he'd owned the remaining shares.

Preston and Imogene had both sold four percent of their stock in order to cover what they'd used of Cord's money; that gave Cord fourteen percent, assuming that he'd bought it, which he must have done. She'd sold nine percent, giving him twenty-three percent. If he had twenty-six percent, he'd bought some common stock as well, and possibly had acquired voting proxies from other stockholders. Preston also had voting proxies. It was all just a game of numbers, nothing else. If anything, the corporation was stronger, since Cord had essentially paid off an outstanding debt. The family now owned fifty-four percent of the stock. Everything was just fine.

Now Cord's reassurances made sense. He'd known that the company was in no danger of bankruptcy, but he hadn't trusted her enough to tell her what was going on, just as Preston hadn't trusted her enough to tell her his suspicions. She'd tried to be a mediator, and instead had become the sacrificial goat.

She was glad that the morning would bring the end of it. She was tired of games. They seemed to be fine for everyone except the goat.

O
f the five people in the boardroom the next morning, Cord looked the most relaxed. He was dressed impeccably in a summer-weight pin-striped suit, the cut of which had a definite European flair. His growing beard gave him a raffish look that kept the suit from being
too
impeccable, but then his rampant masculinity allowed him to wear anything with elan…or wear nothing at all, her imagination whispered, conjuring up a vision of how magnificent he was in the nude.

Imogene was calm, almost remote. Preston was all business. Beryl looked as calm as ever. On the other hand, Susan felt disoriented and none of the familiar boardroom rituals or words made any sense. She darted another glance at Cord, only to find him watching her, and he gave her a slow wink. Was he that unconcerned about the outcome? Was that elaborate scheme nothing more to him than another way of irritating Preston? If so, his practical joke had been enormously successful.

She was so detached that she missed what they were saying. It wasn't until she caught a surge of anger that she was able to gather her senses and pay attention.

“This is my birthright,” Cord was saying, his tone hard and his eyes cold. “It took me years to realize that, but I'm not giving it up. I decided to fight for it, and there won't be any compromising.”

“That's your loss,” Preston said crisply. “Shall we put it to the vote?”

“By all means.”

Cord sat there, so confident, but then it wasn't in him to be any other way. He had to know that he hadn't enough to best their combined shares, but that knowledge couldn't be read in his face.

He'd been shoved out of the family circle. What was in his mind now, when victory danced before him? Thoughts of revenge? Or just a determination to be in that family once again, wanted or not? To assume responsibility for what was his, to finally settle in his home?

“I vote yes,” Cord drawled easily, and Susan jerked her thoughts back.

Imogene sat quietly, not looking at either Preston or Cord, but how else could she vote? She wouldn't vote against her own son. “I vote nay,” she finally said.

“I vote nay,” Preston followed promptly. “Susan?”

He was sure of her, Susan realized. She looked at him, and found him watching her impatiently, the gleam of victory already in his eyes. What a shark he was! He was a perfect chairman, conscientious and bold, and able to use guerrilla tactics when they were called for.

There was nothing for her to read in Cord's eyes. He simply waited. He hadn't contacted her, hadn't tried to persuade her to vote in his favor. Why should he? She'd come down solidly on Preston's side in every skirmish. No wonder he didn't trust her! He would be a good chairman, too; he'd shown his expertise in gathering enough money to mount this campaign.

“Susan!” Preston prodded impatiently.

Trust has to start somewhere, she thought painfully. Cord was so used to guarding his back that it was second nature to him now. “I vote yes,” she said in a low tone, and total silence
descended on the room, except for the quick rasp of Beryl's pencil across the pad as she recorded everything.

Preston looked to be in shock; he was pale, his mouth compressed to a thin line that was bracketed on each side by grooves of tension. The meeting was quickly adjourned, but only Beryl left the room. Everyone else remained in their seats; perhaps even Cord was stunned by the turn of events. Susan's motives were too murky for her to explain them even to herself, but she was aware, deep inside, of a feeling that she simply couldn't fail him now. If he had lost, he wouldn't have returned to being an absentee board member, his shares automatically voted by Preston; Cord entered a fight to win. He would have gone on and on, and the conflict would have continued to tear the family apart and drain the company. Let it end, even if she made herself an outcast with Preston and Imogene. Why not? She was tired, too tired to really care, and she was doubly bitter at being played with so callously by both Cord and Preston. She'd just been a pawn in their games, moved around according to their whims, and kept in the dark by both of them.

Imogene leaned forward, clasping her hands on the table. “Let it end,” she said quietly, looking from her son to Cord and back. “We were a family once; I'd like us to be one again. I was wrong for my part in it, and if you can possibly forgive me, Cord, I'll be very grateful.” The steel that was an inherent part of her personality shone clearly out of her gray eyes, and in that moment Susan knew that she'd never liked or respected her mother-in-law more.

Without waiting for an answer from Cord, Imogene turned her determined regard to Preston. “I know this will be difficult for you; you've been an outstanding chairman, and it won't be easy for you to turn over the reins. But I'm asking you to do it without bitterness, and to do whatever you can to
ease the transition. Cord is family; he's as much a Blackstone as you are. I hope you're big enough to let this end now, before it totally destroys us. People have already been hurt, and others will be if this continues. Susan was the only one of us with enough sense to realize that from the beginning. If you won't stop it for yourself, then stop it for me…and for her. God knows she's paid enough for your enmity.”

Susan flinched, hating to have her feelings dragged out in the open like this. She sat very still and pale, her eyes focused on her hands. Now it was up to them to either settle their differences or draw new battle lines. Either way, she'd withdrawn from combat, retreated to lick her wounds. She was simply too tired to care any longer.

Preston sat with an abstracted frown on his brow, his gaze turned inward to long ago, when he'd first become enemies with his cousin. “I always envied you,” he said absently, reviewing his memories. “Everything always came so easily to you. Vance was a hard act to follow, but with you… My God, when you were around, I became invisible. Everyone watched you.”

Cord stared across the length of the table at his cousin, his dark face hard and expressionless. What he thought of Preston's admission was impossible to guess.

Giving an unbelieving little shake of his head, as if he couldn't quite take in how far their enmity had taken them, Preston straightened his shoulders and looked at Cord directly. “When I was sixteen I started dating Kelly Hartland, and I fell hard for her. You were just starting your sophomore year in college, and I suppose to a high school girl that was irresistible. You came home for a weekend, met Kelly at a party, and just like that she dropped me flat.”

A startled look flared in Cord's eyes. “Kelly Hartland? A little strawberry-blond cheerleader type? I can barely remember her. I dated her a couple of times, but it was nothing heavy.”

“It was for me. I hated you for taking her away from me when you obviously didn't care about her. At sixteen I thought she was the love of my life. When your affair with Judith blew up in your face, I saw a way to get back at you, and I took it. I'm not proud of it, but there's no way to undo it.”

Cord inhaled deeply, and even without looking at him Susan knew that the mention of Judith was lashing at him, uncovering the deep pain and guilt he felt at the way she'd been treated. Yet the bonds of common blood, weakened by years of bitterness and hatred, were reaching out again, and the two men looked at each other, seeing their common heritage in each other's face. The serrated edge of pain rasped in Cord's voice when he spoke. “Judith was my wife. We were married after we left here; she died the next year. I could've killed you for what you did to her.” A crystalline sheen was suddenly in his eyes. “I'm guiltier than anyone else for what happened to her.” Even now, he was bitterly angry at the way she'd died, her spirit gone, her laughter stilled.

Silence fell, and suddenly Susan couldn't bear any more. Without looking at anyone, she pushed her chair back and got to her feet, walking out swiftly before she could be called back. Her chest was aching, yet she didn't think she could cry. The time for that was past.

Her senses were dulled as she went to her office, walking past Beryl who looked up eagerly, full of questions, but Susan didn't see her. She felt chilled to the bone, so cold that she could never be warm again.

All of this had been because of women who had long ago faded into the mists of the past. There was a certain irony in her own situation; did either of them want her for herself, or merely because each thought the other wanted her?

She had barely moved away from the door after closing it when it was thrust open again, and Cord loomed behind her,
so close that she felt oppressed by his size, and she moved instinctively away from him. At her action, his eyes narrowed, and he closed the door behind him.

“Why did you leave the meeting?” he asked evenly.

“I'm going home.” Her legs felt wooden as she walked to her desk and retrieved her purse, tucking it under her arm. She avoided his gaze and moved to the side to step around him.

He took one stride and stood in front of her, blocking the door. “I need you here, Susan. You know it won't be easy, making the transition. Up until now only the family has been involved, but now everyone else will have to be informed and dealt with. I need your help. You can do more with a look than most people can manage with a baseball bat.”

“If I hadn't thought you could handle it, I wouldn't have voted for you,” she said tiredly. “Please, let me by.”

“Why did you vote for me? Everyone else was as surprised as I was.” He put his hand on her bare arm, the warmth of his fingers searing her, seeking a response, some sign of the quiet radiance he associated with her.

Susan couldn't give him one. She simply stared woodenly at the light gray fabric of his suit. “I'm tired; I want to go home,” she repeated.

He looked at her pale, tense face, seeing the shadows around her eyes, and though all of his instincts screamed against letting her slip away now, it was obvious that she was almost at the breaking point. “I'll drive you home.”

“No.” Her reply was immediate, and firm.

He bit back a curse. “All right, if you don't want me to drive you home, I'm sure Imogene will—”

“I drove myself here; I can drive myself home. I'm not going to tangle with any power poles.”

Forcing himself to compliance, he said, “All right. I'll come by tonight—”

“No,” she interrupted, looking at him now, pain and betrayal plain for him to read in her eyes. “Not tonight.”

It was a hard battle that he fought with himself, evident in the grim set of his jaw, the drumming of the pulse in his temple. “We have to talk.”

“I know. Maybe later; I don't think I can handle it right now.”

“When?”

She managed a shrug, but her lips were trembling. “I don't know. Maybe six or seven years.”

“Hell!” he roared, his control shattered.

“I'm sorry, but that's the way I feel! Please, just leave me alone! I don't have anything else you want, anyway; you've already got my stock and my vote.” She pushed past him, ducking her head to keep from looking at him. She just watched her feet, mentally commanding them to function. She left the building, and the hot Mississippi sun burned down on her, blinding her momentarily with its brilliance. She blinked and fumbled in her purse for her sunglasses, finally extracting them and sliding them on her nose. The sun felt good on her chilled skin, she noticed dimly. She would go home and sit on the patio in the sun, and sleep if she could. That was the most ambitious plan she could make at the moment, with her mind so dulled by pain.

She drove home slowly, carefully. Emily, bless her, didn't ask any unnecessary questions. Moving like an automaton, Susan shed her dress and slip, and peeled the hot panty hose away from her legs. The freedom afforded her by an old pair of shorts that she usually wore only while gardening, and a plain white sleeveless blouse with the tails tied in a knot at her midriff, made her breathe easier for the first time in days. It was over. She had lost more than anyone else, but she could rest now.

She pulled a chaise longue out into the full strength of the
sun and lay down, letting the heat begin the healing process in her exhausted body. Her eyelids each weighed a thousand pounds; she was unable to keep them up, and after a moment she stopped trying. She dozed in the sun, her mind blank.

Emily woke her once with an offering of iced tea, which Susan accepted gratefully. The chill was gone now, and she felt pleasantly hot, her skin damp with perspiration. She drank the tea, then turned over on her stomach and slept again. During the worst of the heat Emily came out and pulled the big patio umbrella into position to shield Susan, then went back in to finish the chores Cord had set for her.

Susan awoke late in the afternoon and wandered in to eat the light salad and stuffed tomato that Emily had prepared. Her eyes were still heavy, and she yawned in spite of everything she could do to prevent it.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured. “I'm still so tired.”

Emily patted her arm. “Why don't you go watch the evening news? Just put your feet up and relax.”

“That's exactly what I've been doing for
hours,
” Susan sighed, but it was still an outstanding idea.

It was inevitable that she'd go to sleep in front of the television. Her last memory was of a stalled low-pressure system on the weather map.

She was stiff when she woke, and she stretched leisurely, trying to ease the kinks out of her back and legs. Her lashes fluttered open, and she stared straight into Cord's eyes.

With renewed energy she sat up abruptly. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, her eyes wide, the haunted look creeping back into them.

“Waiting for you to wake up,” he returned calmly. “I didn't want to startle you. Now I'm going to do exactly what I wanted to do the first time I saw you.”