Page 36 of Gentle Persuasion

She didn’t hear him. She was too far away.

Chapter 7

Morgan hung up the phone and tried to mask his apprehension before he turned back to take his seat at the dinner table.

“Well, now there’s more for me,” he said jovially as he reclaimed his seat.

Debbie didn’t miss a thing. She’d seen his hesitation. She’d heard the concern in his voice during the conversation. And she’d have to have been blind not to recognize that fake smile.

“What?” she asked.

“Something came up.” Morgan shrugged, trying not to dwell on the possibilities occurring to him. Cole had been vague. He always was. But Morgan had heard the tension in his voice. He knew that whatever was “about to go down” was not the last bite of dessert Buddy was eyeing.

“Morgan Brownfield!”

The sharp tone of her voice got his attention.

Even Buddy quit dawdling. His spoon clattered onto the table and bounced onto the floor. He looked down at the spoon. He looked back up at Debbie. When he saw that she wasn’t yelling at him, he retrieved his spoon from the floor, stuck it back in his ice cream, scooped, and ate, relieved that for once he was not the one in trouble.

Morgan was getting a first-hand glimpse of the woman who’d tied his son in knots. He started talking. He had no choice.

“I don’t know details,” he offered. “I never do. But something happened. I don’t know whether it was a tip or new information or what. Anyway, as Cole put it, ‘Something came up.’ He doesn’t know when he’ll be home.” Morgan watched the fear spreading on Debbie’s face. “He’ll be fine,” he assured her. “This has happened lots of times before.”

Debbie sat frozen in place. Every word Morgan was uttering was flashing images in her brain she didn’t want to contemplate.

“His last orders were for us to take care of you,” Morgan added.

Tears flashed. She hadn’t even known they were coming. Her mouth twisted. She swallowed a lump of pain that tightened her throat and quietly arose from her chair.

“Well, then that’s that,” she said. “No need keeping stuff warm.” She gathered her empty plate. “Buddy, darling, when you’re through, would you carry out the garbage?”

If she’d asked him to strip naked and then paint the garage, he couldn’t have been more shocked. And then he caught his father’s glare and swallowed the last bit of ice cream stuck on his tongue. It was a little large and a lot cold and made tears come as it hurt all the way down. But he quickly agreed. Something about the way she was standing so small and stiff with her back to the table told him that this was no time to be dense. And when he had to, Robert Allen Brownfield could be very astute. He took out the garbage.

***

Debbie was exhausted. The last forty-eight hours had been hell. To get past the worry of what might be happening to Cole, she’d cleaned every closet in sight, rearranged cabinets, and polished and repolished silverware and woodwork until Morgan had succumbed to her spree and disappeared to the golf course.

Buddy had locked his door in panic, certain that his precious room would be next in line. When night came on the second day, they’d all fallen into bed, relieved that the worst was over. They’d survived. There was nothing left to clean.

***

The night was muggy. Debbie lay uncovered, her silky yellow shift bunched around her thighs. She kept trying to find a comfortable position, but her clothes stuck to her body, and her hair wilted against her neck, making sleep impossible.

Knowing that Cole was not across the hall was a constant reminder that she didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. She’d tried to ignore the fact that she was more than a little nervous about his safety. So she’d nearly killed herself by staying too busy to dwell on worries. And, it had almost worked. It was only when the house was dark and quiet, when everything was in place and all were asleep, that rest became impossible, though she was tired enough.

Maybe I’m too tired. I just need to relax.

She thought of the pool and the cool, calming water, and made a decision. It would be a quick dip. No need to change into her suit. Everyone else had been asleep hours ago. Her nighttime prowl couldn’t possibly disturb them. Their rooms were at the opposite end of the house.

She grabbed a towel from her bathroom and padded down the hallway, a slip of yellow moving through the shadows.

The tall, wooden fence that surrounded the backyard protected property and privacy alike. It was enough. The night was dark and lonesome without the moon’s presence. Streetlights from the front of the house stingily shed just enough light with which to maneuver.

The concrete was still warm, a reminder that the day had been hot. Her toes curled with anticipation as the water lapped quietly against the sides of the pool, moving gently in the rhythm of the night’s feeble breeze. She stood beside a deck chair, inhaling the scents of a mimosa tree in full bloom and the bird of paradise flowers opening to the night. The darkness was familiar. She relaxed as it wrapped her in its shadows.

The straps of her gown disappeared with her tension. One slipped down and off and the other followed. The yellow gown hung suspended on the thrust of her breasts before she tugged. It fell at her feet, a puddle of sunlight splattered on midnight. She walked to the edge of the pool, lifted her arms above her head, and leaned forward. Her fingertips parted the water, and then it flowed over and around her, caressing her skin like a wanton lover. She surfaced with a quiet laugh and began to swim.

***

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