Daughters of the Summer Storm by Frances Statham (best sci fi novels of all time .TXT) 📗

She openly stared at the man and clutched the basket of flowers so hard that it seemed welded to her hands. He was headed straight for her. And she watched, dumbfounded, as he approached her. It was Shaun. He was there, at Cedar Hill, within touching distance.

"Hello, Marigold."

She backed away from the tall, muscular man who towered over her. "Shaun. What are you doing here—at Cedar Hill?"

"Didn't your husband tell you? My company is laying the track in his gold mine."

"Your company? Crane hired you to build the rail system?"

The auburn-haired man's mouth moved in an ironic twist. "I believe he talked with my partner. He may not have been aware of the association. I think Crane was expecting the foreman, but since the man is busy on another project, I decided to come ahead to design the system. And I will stay to oversee it myself, so your husband will not be kept waiting any longer than necessary."

No wonder Crane had been in a bad temper, having to welcome the man whom he disliked so thoroughly.

"I. . . I have never repaid you for the dress. . ."

"Forget about it, Marigold." He stared hard at her, and she could think of nothing to say because of the effect his green eyes had on her.

"Are you happy with Crane?" he demanded suddenly. There was anger in his voice. "If he is mistreating you—if you need help, Marigold. . ."

She saw the pity in his eyes—pity for her. Was her love for Shaun so obvious in her face? Did he sense the way her heart was fluttering as she stood near him?

Marigold closed her eyes and saw him with the possessive Docia, the woman he preferred. No, she would not have him sorry for her.

"Of course I'm happy with Crane," she said, lifting her chin a trifle higher. "I am expecting his child. Is that not what makes a woman's joy complete—to be expecting the baby of the man she. . . loves?"

The words almost choked her. Marigold, watching Shaun, saw his emerald eyes change. Not pity, but something else now in its place. Resignation? Disappointment?

"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. And I expect you are hungry, Shaun." Marigold began walking toward the house with Shaun at her side.

In a daze, Marigold sat at the table, looking at Crane and then at Shaun. How could she stay and act as if nothing were wrong, when she was being torn apart? Forced to show indifference to the man she actually loved, while pretending affection for the man she hated. Her fork clattered onto her plate, and she dropped her napkin. She could eat almost nothing. Yet Shaun, seemingly impervious to the stilted atmosphere, ate heartily, while Crane watched him with narrowed eyes.

As soon as she could do so, Marigold left the table. "If you will excuse me," she said. When she left the dining room she heard Crane's gloating voice. "My wife is expecting a child, Mr. Banagher. And so she is a little high-strung."

By the next morning, Marigold had gotten over the initial shock of having Shaun Banagher at Cedar Hill—but she was not entirely relaxed. She supposed she never would be—seeing the two men together. But somehow, she had to get through the next few weeks.

When the mail for the week came, Marigold was in the parlor, reading. Feena brought three envelopes to her, saying, "A man just delivered these, ma petite."

Eagerly, Marigold looked at the addresses. Two were for Crane and one for Shaun. Disappointed, she saw there was no communication from her family.

Marigold turned the letters over in her hand. What business did Crane have with the sheriff in Charleston? Could it be about Jake?

Seeing the feminine handwriting on the letter addressed to Shaun, Marigold did not have to guess the name of its sender. She placed the three letters on the front hall table and went back to her reading.

27

Crane gazed incredulously at the letter in front of him. It was not possible. And yet, the detective had sworn everything he wrote was the truth—Marigold's spending the night in Shaun Banagher's townhouse, his purchase of a new dress for her the next day, and his sheltering the man, Jake.

Crane had merely wanted to find Jake, to punish him for his insolence. But here in his hands, Crane held far more incriminating evidence. While searching for the black man, the detective had stumbled onto something far more serious—Marigold's unfaithfulness.

The glint in Crane's coal dark eyes, the fist clenched around the ball of paper indicated the man's extreme anger. The longer he thought about it, the more livid he became.

Marigold had spent the night with Shaun—in the townhouse that had once belonged to Robert Tabor. She had said nothing to her husband about it the next day, or any day afterwards. And with good reason, Crane now realized. The child that he had thought was his—it was Shaun Banagher's!

He should have guessed. From all the times that he had bedded Marigold, not once had there been any hint that she was with child. Why should it have been otherwise that last time—the night of his mother's funeral?

And the green dress she had worn to the wharf. Shaun had even purchased that for Marigold. And the final insult—Jake was now working for Shaun Banagher and under his protection.

Crane's anger was now combined with fear. They must have found out that he had deceived Marigold, forcing her into marrying him. What other reason did the man have in coming to Cedar Hill but to kill him and take Marigold? It was not the rail to be laid in the gold mine. Owners didn't come to supervise. They sent their underlings instead. No. It was for murder—to get rid of Crane Caldwell before he discovered the child his wife was carrying was not his, but Shaun Banagher's.

The man took out his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He would