True Colors. Diana Palmer
do it from behind a door, though.”
“I see what you mean. All right. Your house, your problem.”
“It should have been your house, Don,” she said unexpectedly. “I’m sorry it worked out this way. You’re Henry’s brother, his only blood relative. The bulk of the estate should have been yours.”
Don sighed sharply. “Henry had the right to do what he pleased with it,” he said, and the hostility abruptly left his voice, to be replaced by a tone that was almost regretful. “You were his wife, after all. He loved you.”
“I loved him, too,” she said. She meant it. Henry had been her refuge in that terrible storm of anguish Cy had caused. It wasn’t the kind of love she’d felt for Cy, but it was love all the same. Given enough time, with Cy’s presence removed permanently, she might have come to love Henry with the same fervor he’d offered her.
“This mineral monopoly the Hardens have,” Don said, his voice strange. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? Harden is a formidable businessman. You could be risking more than you realize.”
“Expansion without risk is like bread without butter. No flavor. Take care, Don. Let me speak to Mr. Smith again, please.”
“Okay. I’ll call him. Take care of yourself.”
“Sure.”
Minutes later, Mr. Smith was back on the line. “He’s gone,” he said curtly. “I don’t trust him, Kip. Neither should you. I think he’s up to something.”
“I’ll bet you’re the most suspicious man on earth. It must be that old CIA experience affecting your brain. Don’s all right.”
“He said Tiny should be kept outside,” he said after a minute.
She laughed. “Tiny would be miserable outside. It’s my house. As long as it is my house, Tiny lives inside. Okay?”
He relaxed. “Okay.” He made a rough sound. “Thanks.”
“I want you to come out here next week.” She gave him a list of the things she needed and set a time. “Call Blake, will you?” she added. “I hate being away from him so much. At least we can talk on the phone. I know it’s late, but I do want to say hello.”
“He’ll be glad to do that. He’s already missing you again.”
She sighed. “I do travel a lot, don’t I? Too much, sometimes.”
“Uh, about Tiny…”
“I’ll get a new plumber,” she promised. “Don’t worry.”
She could almost see him grin. “Okay.”
Seconds later her son picked up the phone. “Mama, when are you coming home?” he asked sleepily. “My rubber duck fell in the cubbymode and Mr. Smith throwed him away. He got me a new one. Did you buy me a present? I can count to twenty, and I can write my name….”
“That’s very nice. I’m proud of you, son. You’re coming to see me soon, and I’ll have a present for you.” She crossed her fingers. She would have, by then.
There was a brief pause. “Can’t you stay home then and play with me sometimes? Jerry’s mama takes him to the park to see the ducks. You never take me places, Mama.”
She had to grit her teeth not to make some sharp reply about the necessity for her work. “When I get home, we’ll talk about that,” she said.
“That’s what you always say, but you go away again,” he muttered angrily.
“Blake, this isn’t the time for an argument,” she said firmly. “Now, listen. Mr. Smith is going to bring you out here very soon. There’s a lot to see, even some real cowboys, and we’ll have time to spend together.”
“We will?” he asked with such delight that she felt guilty all over again.
“Yes,” she promised.
“All right, Mama. Can we bring Tiny? Uncle Don says we ought to eat her. I think Uncle Don’s mean.”
“Now, now. We aren’t going to eat Tiny. Mr. Smith can bring her with you when you come out here to see me. But not just yet, okay?”
“Okay.” He sighed sadly. “Can Tiny sit with me when we come?”
“Tiny’s carrier can sit with you,” she corrected, remembering vividly the last time Mr. Smith had taken Tiny in the limousine with them on a trip. A small-town garage attendant had refused to pump gas after Tiny had pressed her nose against the window to look at him. People shouldn’t carry monsters around in their cars, he’d added scornfully. Mr. Smith had gotten out of the car to answer that insult, but the attendant was already out of range. Ever since then, Tiny rode in a carrier because Meredith insisted.
“I love you, Mommy,” Blake said.
“I love you, too, darling. I’ll call you tomorrow. You mind Mr. Smith and be a good boy.”
“I will. Night-night.”
“Good night.”
She hung up, fingering the receiver tenderly. Blake was the most important thing in her world. Sometimes she regretted bitterly the time she had to spend away from him on business. He was growing up, and she was missing some of the most precious days of his life. Would he resent that when he was older? Was she being fair to him not to let Don assume more of the responsibility for the domestic operations or to designate another corporate officer to help her? Perhaps her own pride was adding to the problem, because she felt obligated to carry on the role Henry had originally carved out for her. But would Henry have given her so much responsibility if he’d realized how it would affect her relationship with Blake?
No, she thought. He’d have delegated to give her more time with her son. He would have been with her himself, too, playing with Blake, taking him places, encouraging his curiosity about the world around him. Henry had loved Blake so much.
She turned away from the phone. Sometimes life without Henry was very hard. She wondered what it would have been like if Cy Harden had ignored his mother’s accusations and believed in Meredith, if he’d married her. They’d have been together when Blake was born, and perhaps the delight of having a son would have bound Cy to her.
She laughed coldly. Oh, certainly. Blake would have warmed his cold heart, and he’d have fallen madly in love with Meredith and kicked his manipulative mother out on her ear.
All of it whirled around in her head, blinding her. The pressure of business, Blake’s indignation and resentment of her absences, Cy Harden’s renewed presence in her life. She tugged at her thick blond hair and remembered something she’d read about “primal scream therapy.” She wondered what the neighbors would say if she went out into the street and screamed at the top of her lungs. She’d be locked up, that’s what, and then who’d take care of Blake, acquire new contracts, and deal with Cy Harden and his vicious mother?
She went upstairs and took a tranquilizer. She didn’t take them often, but sometimes the pressure was so terrible that she couldn’t cope. Alcohol, thank God, had never appealed to her. Neither did pills. She only took them when she had no other option. This was one of those nights.
With a long sigh, she showered and dressed for bed. It did no good at all to agonize and theorize over problems. Henry had taught her that. The only way to deal with a situation was with action, not mental gymnastics.
She lay down and closed her eyes. The tranquilizer began to work and she left it all behind, drifting off into a twilight of semiawareness. Sometimes, they said, a good night’s sleep was all that stood between an anguished person and suicide. She wasn’t suicidal, but oblivion was sweet, just the same.
CHAPTER FOUR
AS DAWN STREAMED THROUGH the curtains in Great-Aunt Mary’s immaculate bedroom, Meredith lay drowsily between the clean