It was a fiery day when Darien Brady returned to town. The scorching sun blazed mercilessly over the well-worn road out of the town and into the distant estates. A sleek black BMW flew past Joe's One Stop Shop, a little gathering point converging on acres of fields. The men congregating on the porch chuckled sadly amongst each other. It had been too long.
"Look it, Bill. I ain't never thought tha' he be back after all 'em years," a weather-wrinkled man named Sal said shaking his head.
"Too late is what I say. That boy is too late. But my, who knew all 'em blue bloods would be here for the funeral," Bill chuckled.
"Yessir, I heard Ol' Em was all banked out at the inn. Myself, I never liked the ol' man. Him getting hitched after his wife passed, it ain't right," another man chimed with a thoughtful puff on his corncob pipe.
"Chuck, you is too ol' fashioned. Got to go with the times, and truth is, the man brought us money. Seems like everybody wants to know whur he lived. Especially after that wedding," Sal replied.
"But it ain't right. His wife was a God-fearing woman, real purty to boot," Chuck insisted.
"You just getting yer water hot cause you had your heart set on tha' woman after workin' her yard," Bill chortled, "As for sweets, the new missus ain't too bad neither. And her girl, real nice and sweet. She worked a good time on the fields last harvest during her own break."
"Real nice girl, but now the young Brady. Talkabouta block-a-ice. Boy as tough as rocks after his mother died. Real shame, he used to be so nice," Sal said sadly.
"And now he's back. For the funeral, for the estate, for the money. Wonder what he'll do with the widow and her daughter," Chuck muttered as he relit the pipe.
"I reckon we'll get our answers soon. That boy is as ridiculous as a snake when it comes to being patient."
"Sho'nough. Now the corn price is ridiculous. Man can't get a livin' nowadays on the subsidies Uncle Sam gives," Bill grumbled as the men agreed.
The BMW's driver was as beautiful as his vehicle. With short jet black hair trimmed to perfection, high cheek bones, an aristocratically straight nose, and perfectly-formed black brows, Darien Brady would be classified as gorgeous. However, it was his azure eyes speckled with quicksilver framed with impossibly long eyelashes that made the man seem superhuman in appearance. Once those eyes held warmth and laughter, but recently one could only see shrewd intelligence and calculation blazing in black-blue fire. Occasionally, women of his choosing drowned in the sapphire fire. His tall frame was accentuated with broad shoulders and strong, toned muscles, rippling with potential energy, so that even the spacious luxury car seemed to dwarf with him in it.
Today there was a naked element to his eyes. Grief and anger smoldered as his powerfully lithe body flexed tensely in the car. He drove at an alarming speed toward a place he had vowed to never return to. During incongruous time intervals, memories would flood his senses. His father teaching him to ride a bike while his mother looked on with worry and pride etched in her face. His parents kissing in the foyeras the clock struck 12 on New Years. Then dancing at their annual New Year's party with Darien in their cocoon of arms and legs. His mother's last days. His father's depression. His own anguish and pain.
Shaking his head at the thoughts, he concentrated on the task at hand. He was powerless to bring his parents back to life, but he will not let his parent's treasures and possessions go to some gold-digger and her child.
It was over a year ago when his father had called him, announcing that he was engaged and set to marry. Darien had felt betrayed and shamed by his father. 'How could he just replace mother like that?' When the wedding invitation arrived at his penthouse, he ignored it. When more pleading calls came late at night from his father and close friends, he closed himself off even more. The wedding day came and passed. Darien refused to speak with his father, to send a wedding present, or to show any sign that he was supportive of the union. The silence continued, and now his father was dead.
Part of him regretted the silence yet his pride and stubbornness won over sense. Even in the wake of his passing, Darien couldn't help but to hate his father's second wife. A frown marred his brow as he remembered the trouble he had gone through to get records of the autopsy. A part of him suspected foul play and all fingers were pointed towards the direction of the new widow.
He decelerated when he saw the looming gates. Silently he wondered how he would be able to exact his revenge and avenge his mother's memory. The thought made him shudder slightly in anticipation. Like preparing for a hostile takeover, Darien Brady was ready to confront the enemy and destroy. With his signature smirk, he pressed the intercom button and said in a black silk voice, "Jonathan, I'm home."
Without a hitch, the gates opened and the devil entered the home he once knew but was determined to regain once again.
Rene scratched at her black skirt as she read Shakespeare's Hamlet on her bed. The sunshine spilled through her white curtains and warmed the entire room. Sighing at her current predicament, Rene turned onto her back with the play momentarily forgotten. Today "Young Master Shields" was due to arrive, and she would be forced to meet her stepbrother. As far as she was concerned, the man was an insufferable cad who had no tender feelings for anyone but himself. After watching her stepfather's suffering, she had no intention of liking the young man despite her mother's urging the night before.
"You must try to be nice to him," Ilene pleaded as Rene turned her back on her.
"Mama, you knew how much he hurt his own father! How could I forgive and forget that?"
"George wouldn't want more hate for you or for Darien," her mother continued.
"But you know as well as I that he's here for the money and the estate. He doesn't want to make peace anymore than we do."
"All the same," Ilene insisted, "please just try Rene. You were never one to be rude or hateful."
"Don't be surprised, mama. George treated me like a daughter, and it hurts like hell that his own flesh and blood would do that to him. I refuse to make peace with that… that miserable man until he apologizes to his father for what he has done."
"He is a powerful man, daughter. He may end up hurting you as well if you are not wise."
"I'm ready, mama. George let his emotions for that man get in the way, but I won't. I'll give that bastard everything that I've got. If that's all I can ever give back to George, then it will be enough."
Her mother had sighed then, very much defeated and much too tired to try. Rene had felt bad then, and quickly pulled her into a hug.
"Mama, it'll be alright. I won't let him hurt you or me. He's made his move, and now it's time for me to act."
But what was she supposed to do? She tossed and turned the entire night trying to reason the problem out. The collection of facts in her head seemed to convoluted to be of any use to her, and truthfully, she knew almost nothing of her adversary.
Shaking herself out of the useless thoughts, she sat up and looked hopefully outside. Nothing like sunshine to make one feel better, she thought as she straightened her mourning attire and stepped into black flats. Grabbing the discarded play and an outdoor blanket, she trotted towards the large garden at the back of the estate.
George loved the garden. It had been a project started by his first wife Elena, a woman whose vivacious love for life had earned her a deep respect from everyone in the area. When she died from a horrible case of influenza, the estate itself seemed to have delved into depression. Although her mother's role in George Brady's life certainly revived his passion for living, Rene knew that Ilene had always admired Elena.
Choosing her favorite willow, she put down the blanket. It was really unnecessary as the willow was always her favorite perch with George. They had graced the patch so often that the grass stopped growing there. The thought brought tears to her eyes. She had loved George like a father. She never thought she would be able to, but she had. The knowledge of it made it hurt worse as she finally allowed her grief to rush forth in a torrent of broken sobs and tears.
"Are you alright?" A melodious yet deep voice called out to her.
"I'm fine, but please leave me alone," she replied with a raspy voice and carefully hid her face in her arms as her throat threatened to close completely.
Footsteps moving away from her calmed her some. She hated for others to see her crying. She was never one to thrive on other's pity. Yet she wondered who the man had been. It was most definitely a man, but she failed to recognize the voice. Did he know who she was? Albeit her voice was quite muffled and distorted by the constriction of her throat, but could he tell by the look of her clothes? Of course it could've been Darien Brady, but she could hardly expect him to show concern for anyone else.
Forcing herself to concentrate on her book, she blocked herself from thinking about the funeral, the will, and the adversary. Slowly, she allowed Shakespeare to drag her into a net of betrayal, murder, and tragedy.
The arrival seemed rather dull. The servants performed their tasks effectively and without much fuss. If it wasn't for the betraying looks they sneaked him when he looked away, there would've been no signs of the past year. Two years ago, this could've been me coming to visit Dad for a holiday, Darien thought. He grew up with most of these servants by his side. It was rather awkward now that he hadn't seen them for more than a year. Brushing the sinking coldness of guilt aside, he decided to tour the estates and look for noticeable changes. No doubt the witch had sunk her claws into the splendor of the Brady Estates, he thought angrily as he entered his mother's beloved gardens.
The gardens still looked beautiful and well-kept, but there will something marring its perfection. A broken sound roused him from the serenity. Curious, he tracked the sound to mother's favorite willow.
A brilliance of gold peeked from the green of the willow tree. The figure hiccupped and whimpered as sobs racked the small form. A curtain of gold fell over limbs clad in black. A girl, Darien thought.
"Are you alright?" He blurted before he could think better of it. Somehow the painful cries ate at him.
"I'm fine, but please leave me alone," the small figure answered with residual sobs lingering in her unsteady voice.
Darien wanted to answer, to reply, to do anything that could remove the pain from her voice, but his common sense won and he retreated from the tree. It wasn't until he was a safe distance away could he think logically about the girl under the tree.
Who was she? What was she crying about? Why had he suddenly wanted to save her from her pain?
Telling himself that he was foolish to even stop and disrupt the girl, he strode purposefully toward the stables. The thought of his stallion nearly took his breath away. He had considered moving his stallion, Black, to another stable closer to his home in Chicago where he could ride him without seeing his father, but later decided against it. Instead he hired a stable hand to attend and to handle the stallion daily for the past year.
When he entered the barn, Black sniffed the air in loud puffing gasps, and immediately recognized his master's scent. Pawing the ground in anticipation and eagerness, Black waited impatiently for Darien to make his way to the stall. Nuzzling Darien and nudging at his hands, Black hurried him as Darien readied him for a long overdue ride. Within minutes he was galloping over the lush green hills with his steed panting happily beneath his master's powerful guidance. In that ride, Darien felt the land he loved from such a young age welcome him with wood-scented arms. He knew then that he must have the estate at any cost. He was finally home.
Darien returned sweaty and satisfied. Sweaty because he had a workout better than that of any gyms,' and immensely satisfied because he knew he wouldn't leave the estates again before claiming it and everything in it as completely and solely his.
Kelsey and Jen were chattering gaily in the kitchens as Rene returned from her outdoor perch.
"Hey girls, is Lita in? She promised me some of her killer kookies if I helped out scrub the stove" Rene said as she took a seat on a stool next to them.
"She went to the market for groceries. Said she'll be back before 4 so she can start on dinner," Kelsey commented without much reaction.
"By the way, Rene, have you met Master Shields yet? He came in a little after 1 o'clock today," Jen asked while fiddling with her curly brown hair.
So they were curious, Rene thought. It wasn't a surprise to the mansion's staff what she thought about "the young mastah," and naturally they were waiting to see the battle soon to ensue after their meeting. Rene even heard that they were betting on the outcomes.
"No, I haven't met him yet. And as you must already know, I'm in no hurry to," Rene answered flippantly.
"I haven't seen him for the past year and if I can say, I think he's never looked better," Kelsey giggle as Jen raised a brow at her.
"You're too old for him, my dear. But even I cannot forget what it was like to see Master Darien smile back in the days. He took after his mother a lot…" Jen's voice drifted off as she realized Rene was still sitting and listening to her.
"No, you don't have to stop. I have no concern for the insufferable man, and any piece of information about him will only serve to further my campaign against him." Rene laughed lightly as the two bewildered faces stared at her with saucer-like eyes.
It took her only a fraction of a second longer to realize they were not looking at her, but rather past her. The smile froze on her face as she turned slowly as the blood slowly drained from her face. 'Please don't let it be him…'
"Insufferable, am I?" The man leaning in the doorway smirked as Rene's eyes landed on him.
All the blood that fled her face quickly rushed back as her cheeks took on a bright red flush. Aware of her possibly comical reaction and angered at the honey smoothness of his voice, she ground out with a hard voice alien to the two women with her, "Eavesdropping, are we?"
"Hardly," he replied lightly as he strode across the kitchen towards them. Rene was afraid for a fraction of a second as he strode toward her, his large frame seemed to block the light from the windows.
"And just who are you to make such assumptions about me?" He asked in a husky voice as he bypassed her and went toward the fridge.
Kelsey and Jen were speechless by this point. They could hardly believe that the showdown they were betting on might just be taking place not 2 feet from them.
"You were obviously listening in our conversation, which is very rude," Rene replied flippantly while diverting her eyes from his form-flattering clothes and that sculpted back view…'Stop it!' She scolded herself.
"Stop what?" He asked confused as he turned slightly toward her as he poured himself a glass of juice.
Did she just say that out loud? "Ugh…Stop eavesdropping!" She blurted hoping he would accept the reply.
"I wasn't asking about that in the first place. I want to know why you think I'm insufferable and why you have 'a campaign' against me?" He said slowly as if talking with a five year old.
"How you dare patronize me! I'll tell you who I am. I'm…" Rene growled as she jumped up abruptly from her seat.
"Hey! Y'all wouldn't guess what I got today at the market. Rene! I got a KILLER deal on them strawberries you been beggin' me to buy and … what are you all red and puffed up about?" Lita asked as her extremely country accent went up a notch, "Well why aren't chy'all sayin' anything?" Then slowly she seemed to notice the large body standing by the refrigerator and let out a gasp of realization.
"Oh," she said weakly as her shoulders drooped and the bags of good slid from her limp fingers, "Hello Darien."
"Lita, it has been a while," Darien replied as his dark head nodded to her.
"I reckon I'll be along putting away these groceries 'fore they spoil," she mumbled quietly before shuffling around the kitchen. "If y'all don't mind, I need to start on dinner."
Getting the hint, Rene made moves to exit the room. Her anger had been replaced with curiosity. There was something in Lita's gaze as she first saw Darien that Rene found odd, and she couldn't help but to find herself wanting to know the history in that look. Calling herself foolish and a bunch of other names, she gasped when she felt a large hand close around her wrist.
Eyes narrowing, she looked disdainfully at the hand and then at its owner. "Let me go."
"You never told me who you were," he replied without releasing his grip.
"It doesn't matter. Just understand that I don't like you, and that if you were smart, you wouldn't like me either," she hissed, now desperate to be free from his hold.
Something flickered in Darien's eyes at her words. He wasn't sure whether it is intentional or not, but in that instant he knew who she was. She was right, he thought, if I was any smarter, I would let go of the little tramp and get the hell out of the room. Instead he couldn't help but to let a smug grin pull at his face. "If you were any smarter, you would know not to mess with me… little girl." Satisfied at the rage boiling in his step-sister, he let go of her wrist as if disgusted and gave her a measuring look that seemed to reiterate that she was nothing but a spoiled 10 year old annoying the hell out of a man.
Speechless and hardly able to control herself, Rene stormed out of the kitchen with 4 sets of eyes boring into her back. As she neared the doorway, she thought she heard him speak quietly and what she heard made her even more determined to leave the kitchen without murdering the man.
Darien chuckled as he watched her shake in fury at his words. "Pleasure to meet you, stepsister," he had said to her back, but he knew she would hear him. The thought pleased him immensely. Despite their hate for each other, he knew he was curious about her. Indeed it was her in the garden crying earlier, and Darien was again wondering as to why. Although she didn't admit to recognizing his voice, he had sensed that it had and served to make her only angrier. The thought brought another smirk to his face as he walked leisurely back to his chamber. She had quite a temper, but after all, he was older and more experience with getting a rise out of women.
He frowned at himself. She was a woman despite his earlier insult. Even as he called her a little girl and then gave her a pointed look, he couldn't deny that he hadn't seen the delicate curves and power beneath her mourning attire.
Nevertheless, I must not think of her that way. She made it perfectly clear that she was his enemy, and he was even looking forward to their next clash. Unable to keep the smirk off his lips, he turned on the faucets to the shower and stripped off his clothes. He was barely in the stall before the adjoining door slammed open and a figure welding a baseball bat charged in.
"What the hell?" He yelled as the figure began to beat him with the bat with strong strokes. In a wave of shouts and tangled limbs, Darien managed to pin the assailant underneath his wet body with the now ruined shower curtains tangled between them.
He wasn't sure if he saw her clear blue eyes first or if he felt her soft body shuddering beneath him, but it was unmistakable. He was naked and straddling his stepsister and his proclaimed adversary.
"What are you doing?" They both shouted at the other.
Sighing as he struggled to get his breath back, he tried again.
"Why are you in my bathroom attacking me?"
"This is the bathroom I use! So what are you doing in my bathroom taking showers?" She replied with equally uneven breaths.
"I've been using this bathroom since I was 9 so I think I have a little bit of seniority on this issue," he shifted uncomfortably as he realized that his discovery and the struggle had aroused him. That and the fact he's naked and on top of her, his brain whispered.
Cursing under his breath, he pushed off of her while pulling a towel around his waist.
"Now don't you think you should knock when you hear the shower running?" He cocked an eyebrow at her blushing face.
"I didn't know it was you. I just wanted to get whoever was in my bathroom out." Rene's face grew redder as she realized just how bad the situation was. He was straddling her naked and wet and absolutely gorgeous…Don't go there, she told herself.
"By running in and attacking them with a baseball bat. Nice one," he chuckled as he leaned against the marble sink.
"I freaked out," she replied testily as she turned to leave.
"Oh good, you're leaving. I thought you just wanted an excuse to jump in the shower with me," he said lightly as she turned to glare at him.
"Not a chance in the world," she retorted.
"Don't worry. You're lucky I wouldn't waste my time with little spoiled brats barely out of puberty," he replied just as sharply as he shut the door behind her.