A Love Story
30)
"What if I lose it?"
He studied her silently, watching her fiddle with the emerald thoughtfully, a slightly awed look on her face before she caught him staring at her so intently and dropped her hands, and the ring, to her lap, clearing her throat. He picked at the thin material of his hospital gown, thankful for the dimness of the lights above them. "You won't lose it, Micaela."
She looked small and pitiful where she sat by his bed, inspecting the ring with nervous fingers and gazing at him with large brown eyes, large and dark and beautiful and he mused again on how he'd one day have to beat back the boys with a stick to keep them away from her. "It's so little and if I drop it, I'll never find it again."
"I got it for you…"
"Pa…" There were shades of her hormones coming into play in the way she dragged out his name, hints of what was coming on so quickly for him. Funny how it took being shot in the head to make you realize that your daughter was slowly becoming a... ahem, a young woman.
He reached out and took her hand, carefully picking up the ring and studying it for a moment before turning her hand and slipping it on her finger. He stopped, regarding her for a moment before holding up her hand for silent inspection. "I don't want you to pull this 'I don't need anything' crap today, Micaela. This is my gift to you. You were supposed to get it on your sixteenth birthday but, considering how we've spent our Christmas…"
The look she gave him made him chuckle but she stopped her complaining and martyring and folded her hand carefully, setting it in her lap. She looked as expected after the last months they had gone through, sleeplessness having left her with heavy bags beneath her dark eye and her skin paler than it should be, usually light brown skin almost paper white in the glaring brightness of the hospital lights.
He looked away, looked past her out the window at the Dallas landscape beyond the hospital and his hand moved, one palm coming to rest over his heart and closing his eyes for a moment. "This heart, Micaela, is a traitor…"
"You've got a good heart…" A pause, hesitancy before she cautiously continued. "The bullet in your head was the problem, Pa, not your heart." Another silence, a sigh. "I think you've got a good heart."
"They didn't even do their job," he muttered softly, once again, his annoyance coming into play, annoyance caused by the panic he had felt when he had fully realized how bad it was, how quickly he had gone downhill, even as quickly as they had gotten him to the hospital. "What kind of brain surgeons can't even get out all the pieces of bullet…? What do you think, shall we raise some Hell for these yuppies?"
When he looked back at her, she was staring at him. "They did a very good job," she murmured and then fell silent, gazing at him with eyes that were finally beginning to crumble, now that he was going to be fine and she knew it and didn't have to pretend anymore. Why now…? Why after all these years, when all that fear of not knowing where he was at all times was finally fading…? Who would do this now…?
Damn… damn… damn…
When he opened his arms, she left the chair, slipping into the uncomfortable bed and curling up at his side and he grimaced at how she felt, no longer the tiny child who would insist that he wear a crown and a cowboy hat together when they played pretty-cowboy-princess together. The one who would stare up at his horses with wide eyes and then squeak in terror when one moved forward towards her, snorting and tossing a mane.
Now she was riding, had her own horse, no longer needed him to lead Calamity around the pen with a rope, no longer had to help her climb up into the saddle. It was painful, and he swallowed it back, forced it down, thankful she couldn't see him get so sentimental. She'd always be the child who had leaped into him arms that day, screaming and sobbing, begging him not to ever, ever leave her ever again.
He hadn't been the one who'd left but she'd been too young to really understand that, although she understood it now, grasped the full mechanics of what Lynette had done that night when she'd hurt him the only he could be hurt, using his one weakness against him so easily and so flawlessly, effectively destroying whatever sense of control he'd managed to build for himself in the years since he'd come home from Dallas, from the hospital he was in now.
"I can't wait to leave this godforsaken place," he mumbled and she nodded, still silent but having her presence known, as if he could ever forget about her. "Go home to the ranch, to real food and real beds and we'll never have to see that damn nurse again with the pinched face and high-pitched voice again."
"Thank god," she added and he ran a hand up and down her back, a warm movement of silent comfort, an unspoken promise that her fears were unconfirmed and she had nothing to worry about, not anymore. "I hate that stupid nurse…" She shifted, glanced up at him with a dirty look. "I really don't like her."
"Nobody does, baby… nobody does…" He cocked an eyebrow, offered her a broad smile that was pure Buck Kincaide. "You can pick my nurse, though… I trust you know my type." Micaela gave a snort of laughter, shaking her head in amusement. "Blonde, shapely, pretty but smart, intelligent…"
"Yeah… yeah, yeah… I know the type."
Brooke waited in silence as Buck Kincaide reviewed the documents that Stuart had sneaked her and then leaned back to think, letting out a quiet sigh and studying her with eyes that were almost too intelligent. He seemed like a man who had looked too old too soon and, while he displayed a strong build and carried himself easily, there was something intensely exposed about the glasses he had put on to read.
Buck looked like someone who had been through everything that the tabloids said he had been through, although she highly doubted he'd ever carried on a secret affair with Elvis' long-lost daughter. As she watched, silently, he finally straightened and set aside the glasses, eying her thoughtfully.
"And this is completely legal?"
"Yes." She sighed, tapping her pen on the papers and nodding. "He owns all rights to the club and, as of right now, he basically has total control over most of the aspects of the Foundation."
"I don't get that," he murmured quietly and shook his head, rubbing a thumb along his lip absently, eyes glittering as they studied her. "Micaela would have run to me for help by now, and we'd have our lawyers on it. She may have short periods of stupidity—as you can tell from our current problems—but she's intelligent and I've taught her everything I know."
"Mr. Kincaide—"
"Buck," he interjected smoothly and she paused for a moment before continuing. "Buck, I think Adam's gone out of his way to keep her from knowing anything about it. And, to judge by the fact that her personal lawyer is currently vacationing in Acapulco—"
"Oh for…"
"Adam paid him off, Buck, I'd bet money on it. Not only that, but your daughter was recently arrested for hitting JR Chandler's car. Adam has gone out of his way to get control of whatever hope for this club that she has and has also found himself with a rather impressive hold on her charity, I'd say that he's decided that she must suffer."
"She isn't the one he's actually trying to hurt."
Well, at least he understood but then, why wouldn't he? Brooke could well remember the papers, the heavy news coverage about the Kincaide kidnapping. Could remember it being on every channel when they had finally tracked down the two and brought her home to her father. Some people had forgotten it but it was still a big deal for some, how she had able to evade the resources he had at hand as long as she had.
The Buchanan baby was making the same coverage although it was quieting now, some of them insisting that there was no longer any point to look anyway, since very few children who went missing that long were brought back in any form. Still, Kincaide had gotten his child back so who was to say the same couldn't happen for Kevin and Kelly Buchanan?
Brooke had no doubt that, if he could, Adam would be sending everybody he had out after Babe and Jamie. If it was only Babe, Brooke probably would have sat on the sidelines, munched on popcorn and cheered him on the whole time. Unfortunately, Jamie was out there too and he was with Babe… again, unfortunately.
Maxie and Harley, working in tandem, were a force to be reckoned with and tonight, working in tandem, they were a force of nature… albeit in high heels and bad wigs. Or, bad wig, since Harley was the one sporting the truly hideous disguise that consisted of black wig, bad heels and extremely disturbing make-up.
There were very few things she wouldn't do for Maxie and this time was no different, checking her reflection once more in the mirror before, nodding to herself, she looped the massive bag over her one shoulder and headed for the door of the restroom, slipping out and slinking quickly and effortlessly through the maze of the casino corridors.
This was Harley's life, running around, committing crimes so that precious Maxie didn't break a nail. And she, if she did say so herself, had become good at it. From her first foray into crime—helping Maxie seduce that dunce who worked for Kincaide—she had responded to every danger with the utmost amount of grace and flawlessness.
Dig up some dirt on Slater while Maxie got herself that proof she needed so damn badly.
As far as Maxie was concerned, Ethan Ramsey was just a means to an end. After all, he had shown since arriving in Pine Valley to be a surprisingly loyal friend to Kendall Hart—who had great legs by the way—and was one of those who frequently rallied to the Kendall Hart Cause.
When a red-headed broad who looked as old as dirt and a black chick came around the corner she spun, studying a picture framed of some kind of weird squiggles and dots, what apparently constituted as fine art in this town. And when the black woman stopped, turning to the tall woman so damn fascinated by the stupid picture, Harley found herself under the threat of the most fearsome gaze she had ever encountered.
By the time the two women had wandered off, Harley was pretty much plotting her death.
After that, it was easy as pie to get into Slater's office and dropped into his seat—noting as she did how comfortable it was—immediately beginning to search the desk and then sliding open the drawers to flick carefully through the files, noting with growing wariness how well-organized the guy was.
In her experience, the only men who were this anal were either gay or in sore need of a good lay. Seeing as how he had not at all responded to her carefully groomed cleavage, she decided with a chuckle that he had to be gay… no way a straight guy could resist her. Harley highly doubted a guy like that was ever lacking in the sex department.
So he must be gay.
There was nothing, not a single hint of anything that had to do with mob activity or dirty dealings or swimming with the fishes or putting horse heads in beds or other stuff like that… nothing! Leaning back in the chair, she frowned, contemplating before leaving his office, digging out her cell phone as she did.
There was a surprisingly large amount of pictures decorating the inside of the mansion and Dixie let her eyes absorb one after another, studying some faces she didn't recognize and others that made her nerves twang with a nervous, giddy energy that caused her fingers to twist.
Older pictures of a red-haired girl with large eyes and many times holding a porcelain doll; other pictures of two blondes, one older and sometimes carrying a son or sons. One snapshot of a disturbingly frightening black hair-do that reminded Dixie of a porcupine that was half-hidden behind a few others.
The other blonde, smaller and sweeter somehow, sitting on Adam's lap or, in Dixie's favorite, settled on JR's hip, kissing him on the cheek and arms twined around his neck. Almost all of her shots included her in pink or denim, blonde hair soft and swept from her hair.
A lot of pictures of JR, varying ages from infanthood to childhood, a smiling boy with slightly brittle blue eyes and, in most cases, a darker-haired boy held protectively at a side, one arm draped over shoulders. On the corner of the mantle, she noticed the one framed and prominently displayed, of JR and Adam, looking far more relaxed and happy then they seemed to be now.
"I think that one's my favorite."
Dixie glanced over her shoulder before turning to watch as Adam stepped forward, nodding to the picture of him and JR. "We had quite a few taken since he came home to us but..." Behind them, Winifred was setting a tray down, setting out the food and drinks. When she caught Dixie's sight, she beamed, waving joyfully before quickly darting away, looking embarrassed by her slip of excitement.
Dixie felt slightly guilty not remembering the woman who looked so excited by her being back in the mansion.
"But what?" she murmured.
"Nothing for you to worry about..." She was silent, the anger earlier brought on by the nagging worry at the sight of her son in the nursery faded by the silence she had stood in while he had left the room to get them food. When he left her side, backed away to settle on the couch, she could feel his eyes on her, a mix of wariness and jealousy and an edge of panicked desperation that made her stomach flip unhappily.
Dixie had the unhappy understanding that her relationship with Adam was hardly stable.
Settling into the chair opposite him, she watched in silence as he picked at a piece of something that looked expensive but tasteless, the kind of thing that Adam always liked simply because it was another way that he could show his own height of power and control without need of words or fists.
Adam actually looked old, looked his age, and it was disturbing, on several layers, in several ways to see touches of weakness like that on someone who kept such forceful control on himself. She took a deep breath, leaning forward to observe him better, studying him with gentle but sharp blue eyes.
"Adam… Adam, what happened to our son?"
JR would have liked to have taken the pills with some kind of beverage, preferably water but didn't worry about it, swallowing his pain medication dry with a grimace and rubbing his face as he gazed at the casino rapidly filling with people. What he wouldn't do to go run back to the mansion and curl up somewhere that no one could find him.
But this was Kendall; the woman who had stood by his side through everything, from Babe's lies to Babe's lies to Babe's lies and let us not forget Babe's lies shall we? Snorting quietly, bitterly, JR studied the female form pacing restlessly at the entrance, checking her watch every few seconds.
Finally, putting the medication under his seat, he got out of the car, slamming the door and starting towards Kendall, she immediately spun and stared at him, silent for a few moments, before, darting forward a couple steps, she slipped arms around him and it was surprisingly, painfully okay for a few moments.
Here was one who understood.
He held on as long as he could, palms spread along her back and chin on her shoulder, but she moved away, stepped back and that change, small as it was, was like a blow to his insides, making his control waver for a few moments as she looked at the ground, at her heels, at everywhere other than him.
"So," he managed quietly, "how are you?"
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