Controlling Interests

Tracie Peterson

Description

Can reconciliation occur when the betrayal has been so great?The past has harbored guilt and fear for Denali Deveraux, a successful young woman who finds that her desperate attempts to understand her beginnings may forever be shrouded in mystery. Her grandfather, Richard Deveraux, has manipulated her life with actions that clearly reveal his disdain for her, and her beloved aunts—the only ones who may possess the truth—remain pawns under his control.Her question to learn about her mother, the once-adored daughter of Richard, brings her to Dallas, where she is forced to work on an account for the family design business. Here Denali finds herself teamed with Michael Copeland, a man whose eyes reveal an impenetrable pain of their own.As Denali and Michael are trust into their work, their personal lives become inevitably entwined until each discovers that the future may hold a promise …

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 01 juillet 1998
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781441270771
• Langue: English

Extrait

© 1998 by Tracie Peterson
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11300 Hampshire Avenue South
Minneapolis, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2011
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-4412-7077-1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided as a resource. Baker Publishing
Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.
Cover illustration by William Graf Cover design by the Lookout Design Group
Dedicated to my daughter Julie.

God gave you to bless me, to teach me patience and endurance,
to give me hope and joy and laughter.
God knew that as my second born,
you would be the continuation of a very special love.
I’ll love you forever.
Prologue
Denali Deveraux hiked up the long, rocky path. Her steps were quick and even, her heart keeping beat with the rhythm of her feet. Coming here always gave her a feeling of mixed emotions. Solitude and peacefulness exuded control over the luxurious lawns, but there was also an unspoken veil of loneliness and sorrow.
Spying her destination, Denali left the well-worn path and made her way across the thick carpet of new spring grass.
“Hello, Mama,” she whispered, taking a seat on the cold marble bench. There was no response . . . but then Denali hadn’t really expected one.
Granite markers couldn’t speak.
ROSE DEVERAUX, read the etched marker. This was accompanied by the date of her birth, and alongside it was an artfully carved rosebud. Beneath these came the word Died and a date that was not so very long after Denali’s own birth.
“I can’t stay long,” Denali said, her voice respectfully soft. “Aunt Chrys is waiting for me.” Then, remembering the small offering she’d brought, Denali got to her feet and placed a single perfect red rose on the grave.
“I miss you,” she said, touching the granite as lovingly as if it were her mother’s own face. “Sometimes it seems like this is as close as I can get to you. They won’t let me go into your old room, and while I think I understand the reason, I still say it’s selfish.”
A cool breeze blew across the grounds, causing Denali’s waist-length cinnamon hair to whip across her face. She closed her eyes, wishing desperately that it might be her mother’s touch.
“I wish you wouldn’t have died,” Denali whispered. Tears escaped her tightly closed eyes. “I wish I could open my eyes and find you right here with me, safe and alive . . . and happy. I know it would make me happy.”
How many times had she stood here just like this? Wishing against all the possible wishes she could ever make that when she opened her eyes her heart’s desire would come true. There wasn’t anything in her possession that Denali would not give to have this single longing fulfilled. Balling her hands into tight fists, Denali gritted her teeth and tensed her entire body concentrating, forcing every single thought into subjection. There just had to be a secret way for making wishes come true. Just one wish. That’s all she needed. Just one.
But even before she opened her eyes, Denali knew her wish would not become reality. Even at the age of twelve, she knew death was forever.
Swallowing back the lump in her throat, Denali opened her tear-filled eyes and stepped back.
“I hope you can see me here,” she whispered, her childish voice trying hard to sound brave. “I hope you can hear me.” Again a gentle breeze stirred the grass. Denali liked to pretend it was her mother and God walking by. It comforted her heart, and that was all she cared about.
“Grandfather hates me,” she continued. “I know I’ve told you that before, but it’s true. I just wish I knew why. He never comes to the house anymore, and I know it’s because I live there.” Hot tears threatened to fall again. “Sometimes I’m so lonely. . . . I just want you to be with me.”
In the distance, Denali heard the car horn being sounded. That was her aunt’s signal that time was getting away from them.
“I have to go,” she said, her voice raw with emotion. Falling to her knees, she awkwardly hugged the headstone and a strangled sob escaped her throat. The pain never seemed to go away. In fact, it only grew stronger with each passing year. Each passing reminder. Christmas. Birthdays. Mother’s Day.
“I need you, Mama,” Denali whispered, laying her head against the cold stone.
The horn sounded again, and Denali tore herself away. Getting to her feet, she brushed grass off her jeans and dried her tears.
“I love you,” she said, blowing a kiss to where she’d placed the rose earlier. She glanced skyward and spread her arms, stretching them high to the heavens in an open embrace. “Don’t forget me, Mama.”
One
Denali Deveraux stared at the real estate listing in her hand and marveled that a simple piece of paper could reduce the home she loved to mere lines of rhetorical information. For all of her twenty-five years, she’d never known any other home besides this one. And now it was for sale.
“I don’t understand why we have to leave Kansas City for Dallas,” she told her aunt, tossing the piece of paper to the table.
Azalea Deveraux shrugged. “It’s what Father wants.” She picked up a platter of fresh fruit and offered it to her niece.
“And of course whatever Richard Deveraux wants, he gets,” Denali replied sarcastically and plopped down in one of the dining room chairs. Just thinking of her grandfather brought a certain discomfort to Denali’s already stressful morning.
Azalea’s expression looked pinched; nevertheless, she continued to offer the fruit until Denali finally took the platter. Selecting some of the early season strawberries and cantaloupe, Denali put the fruit tray down and picked up her morning coffee. After a restless night considering the move her grandfather had demanded they make, Denali cherished the rejuvenating, steaming liquid.
“It just doesn’t make good sense,” Denali finally started in again. She put the delicate china cup down and crossed her arms. “Azalea, you know very well that the Kansas City office is every bit as productive as the Dallas location. He’s only doing this to make me miserable.” No amount of reasoning would convince Denali otherwise. She held the reins of Fun, Inc.’s Kansas City division, and the business was doing well. As a theme park architectural design firm, they had more than enough work, as well as a strong profit margin.
“I’m sure that isn’t his reasoning, Denali,” Azalea protested. “He’s just looking out for his best interests. Besides, Chrys loves it there, and she already has a place picked out where we can live.”
“So . . . Aunt Chrys has already found an apartment where you and she can live together, and Grandfather has his mansion in Highland Park. You two will have your uptown apartment, and I’ll be left to figure out what I’m supposed to do with myself.”
“But, Denali, you are twenty-five,” her aunt reminded.
“I know that, and I’m not saying that I don’t desire a place of my own. It’s just that I love this house.” She waved an arm in the air for emphasis. “This is the only home I’ve ever known.” She stopped abruptly, trying to figure out how to put into words the things that were weighing down her heart. “Mother lived here. She was raised here with you and Chrys. It’s one of the few connections I have to her.”
Azalea grew sympathetic. “I know, sweet. I’ve always known that it was this reason, more than any other, that tied you to this place. But your mother isn’t here, and you may never get the answers to those questions you have.”
“Questions that you and Chrys, not to mention Grandfather, could answer for me if you would,” Denali reminded her.
Azalea paled a bit and picked at the food on her plate. It was as it always seemed to be. She would rather focus on anything else than talk about Denali’s past. Denali sighed and made a pretense at eating. The family wasn’t compelled to give her the details of her past, but they were more than happy to dictate the details of her future. She tried to relax and not let everything close in on her. It wasn’t like she couldn’t give up the family business and stay on in Kansas City. But in truth, she wasn’t completely sure that she could stay in Kansas City and not live at Cambry.
Cambry stood as a gracious estate in the lush Mission Hills area of Kansas City. The twenty-two-room house represented the only truly good thing about Denali’s life. The home was lovely and elegant, with just the right touches of antique and modern furnishings to make the place unique yet comfortable.
Her aunts had a passion for travel, and the rooms of Cambry were positively filled with bric-a-brac from all over the world. There were fine Lalique crystal candelabrums and Sevres porcelain vases from France, as well as Waterford delicacies from Ireland. The china was Haviland, pure and simple. Passed down from their great-grandmother, the family would consider nothing else capable of properly attiring a table. Creamy white with a border of primroses and lavender ribbons, the Haviland china was a family legacy that spoke of decades of use of parties long gone by, of family now passed on, of friends forgotten in the rush of life. The gold leafing on the rim bore wear, and indeed a couple of the plates were chipped by Great-grandfather Deveraux, who constantly forgot to leave his pipe elsewhere when called to the dinner table. Nevertheless, they continued the family lineage,