Liz Talley – A Touch of Scarlet (страница 10)

Scarlet had loved a good protest ever since she’d watched Norma Rae on the rented VCR when she was twelve. Something about the spirit of fighting for one’s convictions, of banding together against wrong, made her blood sing. She’d participated in dozens over the past few years. The last one had been over the destruction of historic storefronts in order to build a parking garage. A picture of her, openmouthed, toting a protest sign had made the front page of the city section of the Times. John had obtained the original photo and had it framed for her. Pain struck swift and hard as it always did when she thought of John. She shoved her hurt away and focused on the task at hand.

“Has anyone tried a town-hall meeting? They’ve been pretty successful in many communities when there is serious contention on a subject.”

“I don’t think anyone has thought of it,” Rayne said.

“That’s actually a good idea, Scarlet. Not sure if we have time, though. They’re removing the book this Saturday. I’m sure Harvey will have something dramatic planned.” Brent studied Scarlet. She could sense his thoughts. Maybe this chick has a brain.

Yeah, cowboy, she did.

“I participated in one when they were going to tear down some buildings in the Bronx. Of course, it did little good. Seems parking was more important than Saturday-night bingo. We held a protest, too, but if you could arrange a town-hall meeting, it may help people in Oak Stand see another side of the issue.”

“Do you think we can make that happen? I don’t see a church wanting to get involved, and the library surely won’t encourage something like that.” Rayne shoved another piece of asparagus in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“A local business place might work if there is room for people to gather,” Scarlet said, turning to the tea at her elbow for morning sustenance. She’d have to scour the kitchen later for something normal to eat.

“I’ll talk to Nellie Darby. She worked at the library several years ago and has been pretty vocal in her opposition. She just had a baby, but I bet she’ll be willing to help. She’s definitely got pull with the mayor.” Brent picked up his plate, dropped a kiss atop his wife’s head and pushed open the breakfast-room door toward the kitchen. “I’ll drop by the Darby ranch later, but first I have work to do. Deadlines don’t care about weddings or town-hall meetings. They wait for no writer.”

“See you later, honey,” Rayne said. Henry managed a wave.

Scarlet said nothing, but she had good reason. She was caught in her thoughts.

“I think I’ll stick around for a while.” She pushed her chair back from the table.

“Cool,” Henry said, swatting at the milk moustache above his wide smile. Darn, he was charming…and growing up. How long had it been since she’d spent quality time with her nephew? Too long. “You can come to my football game. We’re playing the Horned Frogs this Saturday. Horned Frogs is a funny name, ain’t it?”

“Isn’t it,” Rayne corrected, before leveling her gaze at Scarlet. “And you’re not fooling me. You’re staying because of the potential protest. You love the drama.”

Scarlet ignored her sister’s barb and looked at Henry. “I’d love to see y’all whip up on the Horned Frogs this Saturday. And it is a funny name. Ain’t it?”

Rayne punched an asparagus-ladened fork toward her sister. “Watch it.”

Scarlet slid her gaze to her sister. “And for the record, I’m sticking around to visit with my family, who I haven’t seen in a while. I can stay away from trouble.”

“Yeah, right. I know you. You missed out on disrupting my wedding. You’re itching for a fight. And then you’ll be gone like the wind.”

Scarlet snorted. Rayne loved to play upon the name Scarlet had chosen as her stage name. So she liked drama. She was an actress. Besides, she knew her sister’s words were partially true. She did hate injustice and was quick to jump in where she felt she was needed. Case in point, she’d gotten a driver’s license, bought a car and drove over eight hundred miles to stop her sister from making a mistake. Hadn’t worked out, of course, but she would never admit to thinking with her heart above thinking with her head. Even if it were true.

The fact was she needed to spend some time with her family. Thanks to Rayne’s wedding, both her parents, along with Aunt Frances, Henry and assorted other relatives, were all staying for the next several days within a ten-mile radius. No time like the present for cramming in hot tea on the porch, sifting through old family photos and playing UNO into the wee hours of the morning. She had several weeks’ vacation and Aunt Frances had told her the inn was closed for the next few months while they filmed A Taste of Texas. Scarlet had a new car, a room in which to sleep and time on her hands.

The French Riviera would have to wait.

“Whatever,” Scarlet said, grabbing the plate and following the path Brent had just taken.

“Hey, Sum—Scarlet,” Rayne called.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re staying. I’ve missed you.”

Scarlet turned and glared. “Stop doing that.”

“What?”

“Saying things that make me less pissed at you.”

Rayne’s soft laughter lingered in Scarlet’s ears as she entered the kitchen.

Brent stood at the sink, drinking from a coffee mug. Damn. She didn’t want to have to make nice with him. Not when she didn’t trust him. No matter how in love with her sister he looked, she remembered his advances three years ago. He’d been classically smooth, intimately knowledgeable about what it took to get a gal in the sack. His kiss had told her all she needed to know about him…and now he was married to her sister.

She glanced at him as she set her plate beside the farmhouse sink. “Waiting to show me what a woman like me wants?”

“Don’t do this, Scarlet.”

“What?” Scarlet spun on him and parked her fists on her hips. “Don’t remember your words to me that night? The sweet nothings you whispered into my ear while trying to get into my pants?”

“I was a different man.”

“Yeah, right.”

Brent set his mug on the tile counter. Loudly. She could feel his anger. “Look, I get it. I was an asshole. But I’m not that guy. I never was that guy. I’m no more a man-whore than you are a vampire-queen bitch. Just an act.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that my life was damned empty. I was a shell of a man, but I’m not anymore. I love Rayne. I always have. She and Henry, along with claiming my writing career, have made me whole. Have filled me up. So don’t hold my past against me. It’s not fair.”

Oddly enough, she liked him better pissed than smarmy. “I’ll judge what’s fair. I don’t want you making her believe in love and then leaving her behind when new pastures call. I’ve seen it before.”

I’ve experienced it before.

Broken hearts were no stroll through a park. She’d be damned if poor Rayne had to endure what she had over the past year. Only now did she feel as though she could creep around and function, no matter what face she wore in public.

“There are no other pastures. I’ve found my sanctuary.” Brent shoved past her to the back door that would lead to the carriage house he leased from his parents. “I don’t have to convince you, Scarlet. Don’t make Rayne choose. You’ll lose, because I’m her family now.”

Ouch. His words filleted her heart. She lifted a hand and tugged on the slipper that pressed heavy against her chest as if it could stop the hemorrhaging. It didn’t help. She knew there was truth to his words, and that scared her. She couldn’t protect Rayne or Henry. Not from the hurt that would come when Brent Hamilton moved on. And she knew he would, no matter what he said. He was too much like John, chasing shiny new things when he tired of the familiar.

She pushed a hand through her hair, allowing the tresses to fall forward and give her a whiff of the coconut shampoo she’d used earlier. For some reason, the beachy smell soothed her.

“He’s right, you know.” A voice came from behind her, causing Scarlet to jump.

“Jeez, Aunt Fran, you could sneak up on a CIA operative,” Scarlet said, shoving her hands into her back pockets so she wouldn’t fiddle with the necklace she wore like a personal albatross.

“How did you find out I was in the CIA?” Aunt Frances grabbed a ceramic mug with a picture of a Boston terrier on it and filled it to the tip-top with coffee.

Scarlet laughed. “Wouldn’t surprise me a bit if you were.”

She took in the aunt who had taught her how to swing by pointing her toes at God and how to look for blackberry vines along ranch fence posts. Her aunt had aged well. Her gray-streaked brown bob framed a lined face that bore a cheerful countenance and wide blue eyes. She smelled of roses and freshly baked pound cake. She smelled like coming home, though Scarlet would be stretching it calling Oak Stand home. She had no home. Rolling stone and all that. Living in New York City for the past four years was as close as she’d gotten to calling a place home.

“Why did she marry him, Aunt Fran? He’s a player and I don’t see anyone taming a man like him.”

Aunt Frances raised the mug to her lips and regarded Scarlet over the rim. Her stare was wiggle-worthy, but Scarlet refrained from squirming. Never could hide much from Aunt Frances.