Tears of the Renegade. Linda Howard
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leave you on the trash pile and walk away without looking back. Stay away from him; he’s poison.”
Susan regarded him steadily. “Preston, I’m a woman, not a child; I’m capable of making my own decisions. I can see why you wouldn’t like your cousin, since he’s so totally different from you. But he hasn’t done anything to harm me, and I won’t snub him.”
He gave a rueful smile at her firm, reasonable tone. “I’ve heard that voice in enough board meetings over the past five years to know you’ve dug in your heels and won’t budge without a good reason. But you don’t know what he’s like. You’re a lady; you’ve never been exposed to the sort of things that are commonplace to him. He’s lived the life of an alley cat, not because he had no choice, no way out, but because he preferred that type of life. He broke his mother’s heart, making her so ashamed of him that he wasn’t welcome in her home.”
“Exactly what did he do that was so terrible?” Deliberately, she kept her tone light, not wanting Preston to see how deeply she was interested in the answer, how deeply she was disturbed by Cord Blackstone.
“What didn’t he do?” Sarcasm edged Preston’s answer. “Fights, drinking, women, gambling…but the final straw was the scandal when he was caught with Grant Keller’s wife.”
Susan choked. Grant Keller was dignity personified, and so was his wife. Preston looked at her and couldn’t prevent a grin. “Not this Mrs. Keller; the former Mrs. Keller was entirely different. She was thirty-six, and Cord was twenty-one when they left town together.”
“That was a long time ago,” Susan pointed out.
“Fourteen years, but people have long memories. I saw Grant Keller’s face when he recognized Cord tonight, and he looked murderous.”
Susan was certain there was more to the story, but she was reluctant to pry any deeper. The old scandal in no way explained Preston’s very personal hatred for Cord. For right now, though, she was suddenly very tired and didn’t want to pursue the subject. All the excitement that had lit her up while she was dancing with Cord had faded. Rising, she smoothed her skirt. “Will you take me home? I’m exhausted.”
“Of course,” he said immediately, as she had known he would. Preston was entirely predictable, always solicitous of her. At times, the cushion of gallantry that protected her gave her a warm sense of security, but at other times she felt restricted. Tonight, the feeling of restriction deepened until she felt as if she were being smothered. She wanted to breathe freely, to be unobserved.
It was only a fifteen-minute drive to her home, and soon she was blessedly alone, sitting on the dark front porch in the wooden porch swing, listening to the music of a Southern night. She had waited until Preston left before she came out to sit in the darkness, her right foot gently pushing her back and forth to the accompanying squeak of the chains that held the swing. A light breeze rustled through the trees and kissed her face, and she closed her eyes. As she often did, she tried to summon up Vance’s face, to reassure herself with the mental picture of his violet-blue eyes and lopsided grin, but to her alarm, the face that formed wasn’t his. Instead she saw pale blue eyes above the short black beard of a desperado; they were the reckless eyes of a man who dared anything. A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled the touch of his warm mouth on her shoulder, and her skin tingled as if his lips were still pressed there.
Thank heavens she had had the good sense to ask Preston to bring her home instead of going with that man as he had asked. Preston was at least safe, and Cord Blackstone had probably never heard the word.
Chapter Two
The Blackstone social circle ranged in a sort of open arc from Mobile to New Orleans, with the Gulfport-Biloxi area as the center of their far-flung web of moneyed and blue-blooded acquaintances. With such a wide area and so many friends of such varied interests, Susan was amazed that the sole topic of conversation seemed to be Cord Blackstone’s return. She lost count of the number of women, many of them married, who drilled her on why he was back, how long he was staying, whether he was married, whether he had been married, and endless variations on those questions, none of which she could answer. What could she tell them? That she had danced two dances with him and gotten drunk on his smile?
She hadn’t seen him since the night of his return, and she made a point of not asking about him. She told herself that it was best to leave well enough alone and let her interest in him die a natural death. All she had to do was do nothing and refuse to feed the strange attraction. It wasn’t as if he were chasing her all over south Mississippi; he hadn’t called, hadn’t sought her out as she had half feared, half wanted him to do.
But her resolution to forget about him was stymied at every turn; even Preston seldom talked of anything except his cousin. She decided that all Cord had to do to irritate Preston was to breathe. Through Preston, she learned that Cord was working on the old cabin at Jubilee Creek, replacing the roof and the sagging old porch, putting in new windows. Preston had tried to find out where Cord had borrowed the money to repair the cabin, and found instead, to his chagrin, that there was no loan involved. Cord was paying for everything in cash, and had opened a sizable checking account at the largest bank in Biloxi. Preston and Imogene spent hours speculating on how he had acquired the money, and what his purpose was in returning to Mississippi. Susan wondered why they found it so hard to accept that he had simply returned home. As people grew older, it wasn’t unusual for them to want to return to the area where they had grown up. It seemed silly to her that they attached such sinister motives to his smallest action, but then she realized that she was guilty of the same thing. She’d all but convinced herself that, if she had allowed him to drive her home that night, he would have taken her to bed over any protests she might have made…if any.
If any. That was the hard part for her to accept. Would she have made any protest, even a token one? What had happened to her? One moment her life had been as serene as a quiet pool on a lazy summer day, and she had been satisfied, except for the hollowness left by Vance’s death. Then Cord Blackstone had walked in out of the night and everything had shifted, the world had been thrown out of kilter. Now, suddenly, she wanted to run away, or at least smash something…do anything, anything at all, that was totally out of character.
And it was all because of Cord. He was a man who lived by his own rules, a man who lived recklessly and dangerously, but with a vital intensity that made every other man seem insipid when compared to him. By contrast, she was a field mouse who was comfortable only with security, yet now the very security that she had always treasured was chafing at her. The priorities that she had set for herself now seemed valueless in comparison with the wild freedom that Cord enjoyed.
She had been a quiet child, then a quiet girl, never according her parents any of the worries that most parents had concerning their children. Susan’s personality was serene, naturally kind and courteous, and the old-fashioned, genteel upbringing she’d had merely reinforced those qualities. By both nature and practice she was a lady, in every sense of the word.
Her life hadn’t been without pain or difficulty. Without resentment, she had left school to help care for her mother when a stroke left the older woman partially paralyzed. Another stroke later was fatal, and Susan quietly supported her father during his grief. Her father remarried within the year, with Susan’s blessing, and retired to south Florida; she remained in New Orleans, which had been her father’s last teaching post, and reorganized her life. She took a secretarial job and dated occasionally, but never seriously, until Vance Blackstone saw her gracing her desk at work and decided right then that she should be gracing his home. Vance hadn’t swept her off her feet; he had gently gained her confidence, gradually increasing the frequency of their dates until she was seeing no one but him; then he had proposed marriage by giving her one perfect rosebud with an exquisite diamond ring nestled in the heart of it.
Imogene hadn’t been thrilled that her son had selected his wife from outside the elite circle of their social group, but not even Imogene could really find fault with Susan. Susan was, as everyone phrased it, “a perfect lady.” She was accepted as Vance’s wife, and for three years she had been blessed with happiness. Vance was a considerate lover and husband,