“Don’t be a child, Kate. You’ve had too much to drink as it is. I think we should go for a walk and let some of your mother’s champagne wear off.”
“And I think you should go to hell.”
Maggie stood watching and made a small bet with herself. Kate was a strong, stubborn woman, but she’d been through too much in the last few days. Caleb looked equally stubborn, and he had the advantage of being in the right. The best place for Kate right now was alone with him, and she knew it, even if she was fighting it.
“Don’t swear,” Caleb said automatically. “Did you bring a coat?”
“For Christ’s sake, it’s ninety degrees out there!”
“Don’t swear,” Caleb said again, “or I’ll keep your mouth so busy you won’t be able to say a word.”
Kate just stared up at him, temper warring with amazement. And then her stubborn chin shot out. “Caleb,” she said in her sweet, polite little voice, “go fuck yourself.”
He was very efficient, Maggie had to admit that. Caleb McAllister hauled her sister into his arms and planted his mouth on hers, pushing her up against the wall with gentle strength that was at odds with the temper in his eyes. Kate struggled for a moment; her arms thrashed, her hands pushed at him, but then she slid her arms up around his neck and kissed him back with enthusiasm that didn’t surprise Maggie at all.
And then she did slip away, past the oblivious couple, out into the crowded living room with only the slightest bit of an ache in her heart. She wanted to be kissed like that, she wanted to be yanked into someone’s arms and held until she gave up fighting what was right and inevitable. She wanted to be loved again.
“Darling, you look so sad.” Sybil swooped down on her, emeralds and diamonds flashing at her throat and ears, her jet-black hair a cloud around her beautiful, ageless face. “Were you thinking about Pulaski again?”
In fifty-four years Sybil hadn’t learned tact, and she never would. Maggie shook her head, managing a half-smile. “No, Mother. I was thinking about his eventual successor.”
“And who is that?”
She should have known Randall would be there, she thought, unable to still the little nervous start his deep voice caused her. She turned to look him straight in those stormy gray blue eyes. “I haven’t met him yet,” she said firmly. “Mother, we’re leaving now.”
“But darling, we haven’t even served dinner yet.”
“Randall and I will get something later.” She let herself be enveloped in her mother’s scented arms. “Take good care of Chrissie.”
“Of course, dear heart. She’s delighted to be visiting Queenie and Moomaw.”
“Moomaw?” Maggie echoed.
“That’s what she calls me. Charming, isn’t it? And it doesn’t sound depressingly grandmotherly.”
Maggie’s smile broadened. “It does have that advantage. My children are going to call you Granny.”
“Heaven forbid. Give me plenty of warning, darling. And give me time to grow into the part.”
“Don’t worry, Mother. I have yet to meet Pulaski’s successor, remember?”
Sybil’s magnificent aquamarine eyes traveled up, way up, to Randall’s face, then to Maggie’s, then back to Randall’s. And she smiled a very knowing smile. “If you say so, dear,” she murmured. “Where’s your sister spending the night? She said something about my sofa.”
“I think Caleb has other plans.”
“That tall young man? How very nice. I’ll do my best to be discreet.”
Maggie shook her head, acutely aware of Randall beside her. “It’ll be a losing battle, Mother. Discretion is not one of your many charms.”
“But the others make up for it, don’t they?” Sybil murmured. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, darling.”
“Is there anything?” Maggie had to ask.
“Not much.” Sybil’s facelift hadn’t erased her dimple, and it showed to perfection. “Take care of her, Randall.”
“I have every intention of doing so,” Randall said with a thread of amusement in his voice.
“I don’t know how we’re going to get the videotapes,” Maggie warned him as they descended in the empty elevator. “I don’t want Caleb and Kate disturbed. Last time I saw them, they were coming to a long-overdue understanding.”