Authors: Christin Jensen
Marion Saxe stalked up and down the tarmac of the small private airfield near her home. Today, her disobedient daughter who had become famous was coming home, and Marion planned to reassert her control immediately.
A neatly dressed man in his thirties walked up to the stalking human tigress. “Mrs. Saxe, I presume?”
Marion turned on her high heel, snarling. “What’s it to you?” she responded nastily, glaring at him.
“Merely that I am Patrick Underhill, Miss Clarice Saxe’s attorney.” The young man offered his card. “I’m here today to drive Miss Saxe to Sewanee and to summon the authorities if you persist in attempting to contact her here.”
Marion reared back, offended. “Now, see here, Mr. Underhill, Clarice Saxe is my daughter. We may have quarreled, but you have no right to try to come between us.”
Underhill drew some papers from his suit pocket. “According to our information, Clarice Saxe is 26 years old and therefore beyond the age of parental authority,” he told her coolly.
“We’ll see about that!” Marion snapped. “Just wait until the little bitch sees that I’ve come to get her. We’ll see what kind of authority you have then!” She resumed her pacing, not noticing that the young man had begun talking quietly with the ground control officer on duty.
Marion’s mind was whirling. – She should never have allowed Clarice to take that commission in Kentucky, but, at the time, she could think of no way to prevent it. Certainly nobody would believe that she, Marion, had suddenly become so ill she needed the younger woman to take care of her. - Now she was stuck with a mess to untangle.
A small private plane appeared in the sky. Judging from the ground control officer’s activity, it was attempting to land. Patrick Underhill had already taken out binoculars to study the craft, which meant he knew the serial number of the plane he was seeking. Marion herself had no doubt at all who was in that airplane. Very few planes except occasional FedEx puddle jumpers used this field. - She and Underhill both sprinted for the plane as it landed.
Abruptly, the aircraft door opened, and its lean, rangy pilot stood in the doorway. “Mr. Underhill,” he called, “have you got unwelcome company?”
“Yes!” the lawyer yelled. “Hunker down!”
“You fool!” Marion ran up to Underhill. “That passenger can’t stay in the plane all day, and there’s no other landing field within at least 50 miles. Is that pilot planning to pretend like its World War I?”
“No,” Underhill replied equably. “He’s just waiting for the ground control officer to summon the authorities to insure you don’t interfere with the transfer of Miss Saxe and her luggage to my automobile.”
Marion frowned, thinking through her options. As a landlord, she had some knowledge of authority and its limits. Now was time for an apparent surrender. “Very well,” she said sweetly, “I’ll just stand over here by my car and watch my daughter disembark. Your officers can join me and insure that I stay put.” – Not for nothing had Marion been known as ‘Leather Lungs’ in her youth. She knew exactly how to make Clarice fold up and come crawling back.
After about ten minutes, a couple of embarrassed patrol officers walked up to bracket her. “We just want to keep everything nice and peaceable here, Mrs. Saxe,” one of them muttered soothingly. “We’re sure you do, too.”
Underhill’s closed car had now pulled up to the plane, and the pilot emerged, carrying luggage. The ground control officer mounted the bottom step to relieve him of his burden, then transfer it to the trunk of the lawyer’s car. This process was repeated three times, and then Clarice started down the steps.
Truthfully, the only change in Clarice’s appearance was a more flattering haircut than usual, but Marion knew just how to work her daughter. Standing in her place, she bellowed, “You stupid little slut, you’ve come home pregnant!”
Clarice closed her eyes and stood still a moment, obviously gathering her courage. “Thanks, Mother!” she yelled back. “I’ll pick up a test kit first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Remember, I own your car,” Marion yelled back. The car was legally in her name, and the license renewal came to her address.
“I’ll just have to pick up a clunker,” Clarice called back sweetly as she went around the car on Underhill’s arm.
Underhill had pulled out onto the two-lane state road before he noticed that Clarice was crying, almost doubled up in her seat. “You know your mother was just trying to get to you,” he asserted quietly. “There’s no way in the world she could determine your condition from that distance.”
“But it could be true,” Clarice blubbered, already awash in guilt. “We’d just have to have been a little careless once. - Just let me cry a little, and I’ll get my head on straight and deal with the consequences.”
Underhill remained silent for some time, concentrating on the winding road. He knew enough of her situation to allow her some private time.
After nearly half an hour, Clarice roused herself. “I can lease a car from a local dealer if Prof Santana hasn’t found me one yet. I can probably arrange a rental on the phone. Then I can go get a pregnancy test kit. Bless Terry McGee for helping me navigate the healthcare.gov site! I didn’t even qualify for any of their discounts, but I’ve now got coverage that will work in Tennessee. And I’ve got a way to fulfill my commissions’ right at home, so I can take care of the baby.”
“I’m glad to see you thinking and planning again,” Underhill remarked. “If you remember, we already covered some of this ground before you left Kentucky. – But you don’t want to get ahead of yourself. Let’s just get you to this place Professor Santana has fixed up for you and go from there.”
“You’re right, of course,” Clarice told him. “I’m jumping the gun again, and this probably won’t be the last time. I do need transportation of my own, though. Something tells me I’m going to be burning up the highway between Sewanee and Nashville, where all the mental health professionals are.”
“Tell you what I’ll do,” Underhill offered in a placating voice. “I’ll stop by a drugstore before we get out into the boonies and pick you up a kit. Lawyers sometimes wind up doing things like that for a client.” He himself was anxious to get the pregnancy problem settled, then he’d know exactly what was really on his plate.
Clarice had never doubted for a second that the pregnancy test would be positive. That was what she got for thinking she could care about a man without getting an immediate prescription for The Pill. She had realized over her months of freedom just how her mother had used her like a puppet, but she had never been able to quell the influence of that voice in her head. Doing that was going to take a lot of therapy, she thought grimly, and a lot of nerve-wrenching change.
In the meantime, Lea Santana had prepared the best possible rental home for her. The old chicken house was cited on an acre of scrub land that some farmer had once decided was only good for raising poultry. While the structure wasn’t as large or welcoming as the garage apartment Marion Saxe had provided, it was adequate for Clarice’s purposes and even possessed all modern conveniences.
Now Clarice parted the rather dull curtains and looked out at the scruffy looking, ten-year-old pick-up a visiting professor of geology had sold her for ready cash. The local garage had assured her the battered Chevy was in good condition mechanically and would be simple to service. – Also, she thought ruefully, the thing was fortunately low enough to the ground so she could get in and out of it in her current state.
Clarice didn’t dare think about Farris. Sooner or later, word of her condition would get back to him, and then she was going to have to be very, very firm. She would raise this baby alone, under her surname. Under no circumstances would Clarice accept money from him, except as commissions for work performed. She did not intend to be another Lauren Bonner, dragging down poor Farris like an anchor.
As it was, Terry McGee, Farris’s business manager, had out of the goodness of his heart taught her how to handle her finances like an adult. McGee’s genuinely shocked responses to her childish assumptions had shown her how very much out of kilter her life really was. She decided to retire early and headed to her new bedroom for a rest, laying down and attempting to block all thoughts of him from her mind.
“Farris what are you doing here?” She opened the door looking confused, not to mention slightly frustrated.
“I needed to see you Clarice,” She pushed his way into her home, backing her into the dimly lit room. His eyes were lit up with the fire of passion, “I need you in my arms once again.”
“But Farris, with everything going on I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here.” She gazed into his eyes deeply.
“Just one night,” He cried out and grasped her tightly by the waist, pulling her in for a long, deep kiss.
She couldn’t resist his charms and soon her own body betrayed her. She could feel the wetness dripped down her leg as they stood, locked in deep embrace. His hands found their way down to her mound, grasping her desperately. She let out a gasp, a mixture of shock and pleasure. This was what she had missed as much as anything else, the feel of his large hands on her body. Her knees weakened from the consistent massage of his fingers, twirling sensually around her clitoris. Her felt her knees buckle and quickly scooped her into his strong arms, carrying her to the couch. Farris set her gently down and leaned over top of her, smiling in a hungry grin at her exposed skin. He kissed her lips once more before slipped her nightgown over her head, leaving her body shining out for him to see.
“Your body drives me wild.” He smiled and dropped his pants, revealing a thick, throbbing erection.
Mounting his love, Farris inserted himself deeply into her wet crevice, sending chills of pleasure soaring once more through her buttock and up her spine. He is so deep. She moaned and grasped hold of his strong shoulders. He grunted and thrust harder, deeper into her pulsing mound as Clarice cried out to the ceiling from the intense sensations. Her body was on fire with lust and love, combining into a mad rush of emotions and pleasure. She clawed desperately as his back muscles flexed and released from the work.
“Cum Clarice,” He demanded, his thrusts growing more desperate, “Cum with me like you once did before.”
They released together in a clash of moans and screams, the rush of ultimate pleasure coursing through her veins as he shuttered inside her. He gazed into her eyes once more and kissed her deeply.
“Please don’t stay away from me for so long next time my love.” He smiled brightly, glowing from the satisfaction.
***
Clarice awoke in a dripping sweat. What a crazy dream. She shook it off and began to rise, realizing that the bed was soaked with her own wet pleasure. That dream was deeply intense, bringing back thoughts of Farris flooding though her mind once again. She had to block them out, there were more pressing matters today.
Clarice’s first doctor’s appointment was with a general practitioner who had been recommended to Lea Santana by one of her Nashville contacts. Even after studying the maps on her iPhone, Clarice managed to get turned around two or three times in the bustling city before she found the office. Parking, she discovered, was an even greater challenge.
Dr. Clement Burtis was an older man with a reassuring manner and plentiful nursing staff. He ran all his tests in-house and, within an hour and a half, had all the information Clarice needed. Then he returned to the tiny treatment room where Clarice was shivering in a front-opening hospital gown.
“Well,” Dr. Burtis sat down on a leather-covered, wheeled stool, “you are definitely going to be a mother next May, but I don’t see that you will have any physical difficulties. Since your insurance is in order, I can recommend you to a first-rate obstetrician who can explain all your birthing options. Physically, you’re in excellent shape for motherhood. – Now I want to broach another matter.”
“I’m not going to name the baby’s father,” Clarice intervened quickly. “I’ll get a name for the birth certificate out of the obituary columns, like Mother did.”
Amused by this outburst, Dr. Burtis quirked an eyebrow and continued. “Would you like to know the truth behind her little bit of chicanery? Your father is my patient; I have blood samples from both of you and his permission to tell you.”
Clarice nearly jumped out of her skin. “You know who my father is? He’s a real person and respectable?”
Dr. Burtis smiled. “He’s out in my waiting room right now. After all these years, he’s finally been able to trace you through Professor Santana’s banking needs. He’s a Trust Officer at one of our larger banks.”
“That makes sense; Mother once worked at a bank in Nashville.” Clarice worked hard to think when she really wanted to run screaming into the waiting room and meet her long-lost father. “Please show me the proof that we’re related.”
Dr. Burtis rose and drew some computer printouts from the pocket of his white lab coat. Standing beside her, he carefully explained all the DNA points of similarity. “We do it all with mouth swabs now,” he explained. “I can collect that kind of information in the course of a complete physical.” Seeing the shock of joy in her eyes, he added, “Just dress and come along to my office. I’ll have him meet you there.”
Later, Clarice went to lunch with her newly-discovered father in a restaurant near the doctors’ complex. Once she met John Pirtle, the truth of her paternity was not hard to accept. It was her own eyes that stared back at her from his face, and the long hand that had shaken hers was definitely like her own.
John Pirtle just looked at her while they were waiting to order. “As soon as we’ve got the ordering taken care of, I’ll show you the only letter your mother ever sent me. You understand things well enough now that this will be an adequate explanation.”
“I always thought there must be a letter somewhere,” Clarice responded. “Mother’s never been discreet when she’s angry.” She quirked a corner of her lips in rueful amusement. “That’s how I came to learn the she had taken the name ‘Maurice Saxe’ from the obituary column. – I found the name in a history book and called her on it.”
“Oh, lord, you would come across Maurice de Saxe in art history.” Pirtle winced, but then grinned companionably. “I myself came across that truth when the bank had me checking some artwork provenance.”
Once they had been served bread and beverages, Pirtle handed across a folded, yellow paper. “You’d better read that now before you decide what to order.”
Clarice had grown accustomed to Marion’s outrageous tantrums, but she had never seen one in writing before – especially a screed so venomous. She looked up at her new-found father. “Mother blackmailed you, right from the beginning.”
“Yes, and I’ve kept paying, even after my wife Josephine died two years ago. There were still my business reputation and my legitimate children to consider,” he replied almost meekly. “It wasn’t until I learned from various sources that you were trying to pull loose from Marion that I said to hell with the consequences.”
“Then you’re the one who financed the loan that let Lea Santana fix up her chicken house,” Clarice stated. “Look, I’m not my mother. I’m not going to demand money from you. If somebody wants to make a ruckus about my birth, I’ll stand up for you – if an unwed mother will do you any good,” she ended sadly.
Pirtle chuckled gently. “Mine was an ancient sin, and there are plenty more current cases I could drag up in the banking world if anybody really cared. – I haven’t got so much to lose, as long as my legitimate children know I still care for them.” He did not add his growing realization that his old flame Marion was herself vulnerable and would become more so as time went on.
Meanwhile, the thwarted Marion had telephoned Two Flags Stables and given the patient Terry McGee an earful. Dutifully, he contacted his employer in Virginia.
“Farris, a Mrs. Marion Saxe just called,” he reported. “She’s mad as a hornet – claims Miss Clarice came home pregnant and is threatening all kinds of lawsuits and publicity.”
Farris closed his eyes. He was sitting in a rocker on a sumptuous Virginia porch, but it might have been hell as far as he was concerned. “Contact the lady,” he said finally, “and tell her I will return her call as soon as I get back from Virginia. In the meantime, don’t answer the phone when you see that number. - Fax any reports you get from our Tennessee investigator to me here.” He turned off the phone.
Damn, damn, damn, damn
! Farris thought.
The old lady may be right, even if she does just think she’s just blowing smoke. – Here I was all careful with my condoms and denied even the thought that those might not be enough. I just didn’t want to face the facts and admit I was having an illicit affair. Now Clarice may be paying for my willful ignorance when she has enough on her plate already.
Not wanting to inflict his company on anyone here, Farris scrolled through his contact list until he found the doctor who did his physicals. Fortunately, the two were old college buddies, so Farris had a night number.
Todd Blake answered on the first ring. “Farris Croxton! You’re healthier than your damn horses; what could you possibly need so late?”
“Look, Todd.” Farris bent down in his chair and covered the phone with his hand as he talked. “I need a good shrink within easy driving distance of the home place. I’ve got personal problems I need to work out.”
“H’m.” Blake was obviously thinking. “Last time I saw you, you were escorting Miss Clarice Saxe around her very successful animal portrait showing. – Word is she just went home to Tennessee. Got yourself into hot water on that front?”
“Let’s just say that her family tangle is so bad it made me realize I have problems of my own,” Farris replied. “Dammit, I don’t know what’s going on with her for sure, but I think I may have just added to her burden. – Can you stop jawing and get me a name and a number?”
Blake sighed heavily into the phone line. “I’ve got a pal in the shrink line who would probably be willing to take you on. Got a pen and paper on you? I can give you the name and office phone number. – For heaven’s sake, don’t call him now; he’s not THAT good a friend.”
“I read you,” Farris assured him, “and I can’t get away from here until Wednesday at the earliest anyway. Give me your name and number.”
Then Farris returned to the indoor reception, where everybody in the room wanted him to expound on the genius of Clarice Saxe and how she could portray horses.