A Southern Reunion

“What? And you let him stay on after that?”

“He claims things are over between them, but he never explained how that whole marriage-and-a-baby thing never happened. I still don’t know what to believe.”

“Oh, this is getting better and better.” Rae let out a huff of breath. “Maybe he came back because he knew you’d come home, what with your daddy’s condition and all. He must want to see you again in a bad way.”

“Well, he had to agree to this for some reason. He claims he’s here to help my father and he is good at his job. He was always good at dealing with the land and the livestock and the million things that can go wrong on a working farm. But he had to leave his own farm to come back here. I just don’t get it. Why would he choose this place over the one he’s obviously worked so hard to acquire for himself?”

“But he told you he’d come back for you?”

“Yes, but maybe that’s just an excuse, a cover. I don’t know why he’s here and I don’t care. Let’s change the subject. Anything urgent I need to handle?”

“No, nothing. Everything is going smoothly here. We got the mock-ups for the ads we placed in the spring issues of Vogue and Marie Claire and we’re all set for the fall show at the Atlanta Trade Center. Well, as all set as we can be, barring the models show up and the designs work. You just need to create some great, gorgeous pieces for the next few seasons’ collections, okay?”

“I’m afraid with the mood I’m in, my collection might be more Gothic than gorgeous.”

“How about gorgeous Gothic then? Use all that angst to create your designs. Go with the Wuthering Heights factor.”

Cassie thought of flowing linen top coats and wispy dresses and skirts, maybe with cashmere sweaters and draping wraps. Rae knew all about Cassie’s fascination with the Brontë sisters.

“Good idea,” she told Rae. “Maybe with a little steam-punk thrown in. I’ll get back to you. Right now, let’s go over some of the things I have on my urgent list.”

After a half hour of work details, Cassie finished the call. “I think that’s it for now. I’ll set up a video conference with the whole team once I get my bearings. And remember, no one else needs to know where I am, especially Ned.”

“Got it,” Rae said. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Cassie smiled into the phone. “I will. You, too. Call me and keep me posted.”

“Same here, darlin’. And hey, you know I can send Mama down there in a flash.”

“I appreciate that, but I have to handle this myself.”

Cassie disconnected, determination overcoming her fears now that she’d had a heart-to-heart with Rae. Work and her daddy, those were her goals for now. Those and trying not to think of Cal living down in that two-bedroom foreman’s cottage right out past the garden proper.

He’d always been just out of her reach. Nothing about that would change now.

She got up and opened the French doors then walked onto the broad wraparound gallery to look out over the sloping garden and the fields and pastures beyond. Camellia Plantation covered close to a thousand acres, some of that in cash crops such as corn, soybeans and peanuts, some in pastureland and pecan trees and the rest in forests and woods that hunters paid to lease so they could roam around during hunting season. Her home was vast and all-encompassing and worth millions.

As she made her way downstairs, that thought hung over Cassie’s head like a dark cloud. Millions. Millions of dollars and thousands of acres. Prime real estate in fertile, lush southwest Georgia, made for cash crops and hunting leases and fishing lakes and pastures for livestock and horses.

And it would all be hers after her father died.

Unless, of course, he’d decided to cut her out of his will.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, her mind whirling. She didn’t want to lose the land or this house, but she didn’t care about the money. Maybe somebody else here did.

Then instead of going into the kitchen to find Teresa, or turning toward her father’s sick room, Cassie headed out the back door, searching for the white Chevy pickup she’d seen parked by Cal’s house. But she didn’t need to find the truck.

She saw the man himself down by the stables. He didn’t notice her as he entered the big open barn. Cassie wanted to finish their earlier conversation.

Hurrying down the dusty lane, Cassie almost trotted toward the big red barn where her father kept several workhorses. As she entered the stable, she blocked out the memories of her clandestine meetings here with Cal and the memory of her father shooting her beloved horse, Heathcliff, after the nervous gelding had spooked and thrown her mother to her death out underneath that old oak near the driveway.

But she couldn’t block out the rush of warring feelings crashing throughout her system. “Cal?” she called, the smell of horses and hay assaulting her. “Cal, where are you?”

“In here,” he called from the tack room, his head sticking out, his expression full of surprise and wariness. “What is it? Is Marcus okay?”

Cassie shook her head, her earlier anger boiled down to simmering. “It’s not that. He was sleeping last time I checked. I need to ask you something.” She pivoted toward the door of the small office. “And I need an honest answer.”

“Sure.” Cal came to lean a shoulder on the doorjamb, his eyes sweeping over her before his gaze settled on her face. “What is it?”

She met him face-to-face, her dry throat giving her time to compose herself. “Did you come back here for me, or did you come back here for this plantation?”

He lifted off the jamb, his wariness changing to disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean.” She pushed against a stall, leaning back. “My father is dying. There’s a lot at stake here. You always wanted a place like Camellia and you two were close before…before everything fell apart. So close that he often talked about letting you take over one day. So tell me the truth, Cal. Did you come back to take over this plantation and make it your own?”

CHAPTER FOUR

“YOU JUST DON’T GIVE up, do you?”

Cal waited for Cassie to answer the question, hoping it would deflect the one she’d just thrown at him. He couldn’t be the one to explain things to her. She’d take the information and turn on him. And how could he blame her? He’d vowed to never come back, so he did look suspicious. Wishing he’d defied Marcus and at least warned her, he figured even that might have backfired. If she’d known he’d be waiting for her, she wouldn’t have come home. He had no doubt of that. And she needed to be with her father, if for nothing else then to hear the truth from Marcus. Even Marcus deserved to die with everything off his chest. So now Cal stood and felt the force of her suspicions sizzling over his system.

“Give up?” She pushed off the stall and stood close, her blue eyes shooting fire. “I had to give up. I had to leave and start over on my own. I had nothing, Cal. Nothing and no one. So I reinvented myself, or rather, I found myself. I worked hard and I didn’t come begging to anybody back at Camellia Plantation. My father paid for my education, but I paid for my sins. Over and over.”

Her hand fisted against her chest. “Me, Cal. By myself. I did give up for a long time, but I’m back and I need to know the truth. I have a right to ask questions now, don’t I? So do me a favor and answer me. Don’t you think you owe me that at least?”

She stopped, heaving a great breath, her cheeks high with color, her expression still consumed with shock and confusion.

“I need some answers, Cal. I’ve held things inside for a long time now. I’m trying to understand. I need to understand.”

Cal dropped the papers he’d been planning to go over. He couldn’t give her the answers she needed. But the guilt of letting her go without a fight long ago festered in his soul like a disease. Why had he allowed Marcus to do this to her? To do this to their love? Why hadn’t he fought harder for her?

But his hands were tied. He’d promised Marcus. And he’d protected Cassie. He was still protecting her. “You need to talk to your father. He’s the one who hired me and he’s the one who summoned you home.”

“Summoned? That’s a good word for it.” She paced and then looked around as if she’d just realized where she was, the fire in her eyes changing to a smoldering awareness. “Summoned back to my own home and only because it’s the end and he doesn’t want to die with our nonexistent relationship on his conscience. You know, I almost didn’t come home. But I couldn’t live with myself, thinking of him being so sick, so alone. I had to come on the hope that he’d forgive me for whatever I did, not so much to give him any kind of peace, but to make me feel better. That sounds selfish and horrible, but it’s the truth. I don’t understand my father, but I need him to forgive me. Does he still hold it against me, this thing that happened with you and me? Or is there more that I don’t know? Does he ever talk to you about any of this?”

Cal didn’t know what to say since Marcus had never truly confided in him. But he’d pretty much figured the rest out. What could he say? He’d come back here for so many reasons, but only she mattered. He could deny that all day, but the truth shadowed him the same way the scent of magnolias haunted him.

“He talks to me about the plantation. Business-type things that he’s worried about. He’s never once mentioned us or anything else that happened before you left.” Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Marcus had talked to Cal a lot about the past and the future. But he wasn’t ready to go there with her. One more topic Marcus would have to bring up, because Cal sure wasn’t.

Marcus had talked about a lot of things, including Cassie and Cal. At least when he was coherent. Cal couldn’t tell her about the confused rants and unknowingly blurted confessions. Or the grand idea her sick daddy had presented.

“You mean my mother’s death,” she said, taking up the conversation when Cal had sputtered to silence. “That’s when everything changed. I thought he was angry because he’d found us together but there was something else. That’s when he turned against me. He found her dead and then he shot my horse and after that day he caught you with me, he’d hardly even look at me. What did I do?”

He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her she didn’t do anything. Marcus Brennan was a miserable old man who’d treated everyone around him with disdain and demands. He wanted to tell her that he hated what he’d done to her. But he didn’t have all the answers even if he’d pieced things together enough to understand. But if he’d guessed right, it would destroy her.

“I don’t have the answers, Cassie. I swear to you, I don’t know why he treats people the way he does, especially you. I try to steer away from anything that upsets him.”

She whirled, her hand going to her mouth. “In other words, he never talks about me? Because I upset him, right? Maybe I should have stayed in Atlanta.”