Mississippi - A Tradition of Pride (Americana 24 - Mississippi)

Chapter One

RANS MACQUADE PAUSED on the porch of the brick cottage. Overhead, the morning sun was bright in a cloudless sky. A cool northwest breeze rustled through the pines, carrying a chilling January nip to the air. He allowed his corded jacket of wheat tan to swing open, indifferent to the temperature.
The sweep of his narrowed brown eyes encountered the long, straight rows of pecan trees in the rolling field across the road from the cottage. They were wooden skeletons without their summer foliage, stretching in seemingly endless lines.
The firm line of his mouth curved upward at the corners in satisfaction, carving masculine dimples in his lean cheeks. All of this was virtually his. He was in complete charge with a free hand over the entire operation of Alexander land.
Nothing less would have induced him to leave Texas to move to southern Mississippi. Rans MacQuade had made that clear to Martin Alexander before he accepted the position. The man had given his word that Rans would be in total control and Rans welcomed the challenge of it. After nearly two full months, Rans was willing to concede that Martin Alexander was a man of his word.
A quick glance at his watch reminded him of the time. Smooth, effortless strides carried him down the steps to the pickup truck parked next to the cottage. The breeze rumpled the wayward thickness of his tobacco-brown hair. His fingers raked if carelessly into a semblance of order as he climbed into the cab of the forest-green and white truck.
It was only a short drive to the main house. Normally Rans would have walked, through the stand of pines between his cottage and the Alexander home, but after going over last year's production report in detail with Martin Alexander, he was driving to the cattle barns. It was more practical to leave from the main house.
The Alexander home was an imposing structure, although not the typically palatial Southern plantation. The Spanish influence was evident in its austere design and the liberal usage of lacy grillwork. The grandness of age was understated. Many times Rans had seen it in the early evening hours, the windows ablaze with welcoming light. It was first a home and second a house.
At the front door, Rans let the brass knocker fall three times. He was not yet that familiar with his employer to walk into his home unannounced. So he waited, a thumb hooked in his belt loop while he absently studied the white enameled door and the flanking windows that ran the length of it, protected by intricate iron scrollwork.
The door opened and his gaze shifted to meet a pair of jet dark eyes on the same level with his own. Considering Rans's height of six foot one, it was not an occurrence that happened often.
"Good morning, MacQuade." There was a flash of white teeth as the man smiled and opened the door wider. "You must be here to see Martin. Come on in."
"Good morning, Trevor." Rans returned the greeting diffidently as he stepped into the entrance hall. "Martin's expecting me."
"Yes, I know." Trevor Cochran smiled again. "He's on a long-distance telephone call right now. Why don't you go into the living room and make yourself comfortable? He shouldn't be long. Would you like some coffee, tea or anything while you're waiting?"
"No." A brief negative shake accompanied his reply.
"I'll let Martin know you're here." With a condescending nod, the tall, dark-haired man moved off in the direction of the study.
Rans's gaze lingered on the man's back before he turned toward the open double doors to the riving room. A muscle twitched briefly along his hard jaw and he recognized the cause of his impatience to be Trevor Cochran.
When Rans had arrived the last of November to take charge, he had been surprised and curious to discover that Martin Alexander had a young and intelligent son-in-law, Trevor Cochran. He was the husband of Martin's only child, the heir apparent of the vast Alexander holdings. Presumably Martin should have been grooming his son-in-law to take over the reins. Instead he had offered Rans a long-term contract giving him total charge of the farm.
Mentally Rans had braced himself for the hostility he had expected Martin's decision to bring. Yet Trevor Cochran hadn't seemed at all perturbed by the turn of events. Although Trevor had an active role in the company and lived with his wife in the same house with his father-in-law, he seemed satisfied that someone else was solely responsible for the operation.
Even while he recognized Trevor's lack of ambition, Rans couldn't understand it. He didn't know how anyone could be a part of an operation this size and not rush out to aggressively meet the challenge of running it smoothly and successfully.
There was another factor to be recognized, too. Despite Trevor Cochran's muscular physique, he was physically soft. He was neither able nor willing to meet the physical demands of the position. His prowess, Rans decided, was limited to the bedroom. With Trevor's dark, rather stunning good looks, it had probably been put to considerable use—and still was, if the rumors were accurate.
Pushing the draperies of green brocade aside, Rans gazed out the window at the expanse of well-kept lawn shaded by towering pines. Footsteps sounded on the tiled floor of the hallway, followed by a second, lighter pair. He released the draperies and turned expectantly.
"Sara." It was Trevor Cochran's voice, and Rans sighed impatiently at the delay in meeting with Martin Alexander. "Has my wife been down this morning? She wasn't at the breakfast table."
"Lara—Mrs. Cochran," the housekeeper corrected herself quickly, "had breakfast in her room about an hour ago."
"In her room." An eyebrow arched swiftly as Rans smiled with cynical amusement. He thought separate bedrooms had gone out with hooped skirts. However, it did explain the first gossip he had heard on his arrival—that Trevor Cochran spent more time with other women than he did with his wife.
"But she hasn't been down?" Trevor Cochran repeated from the hall. "Are you sure?"
"Were you looking for me, Trevor?" A second female voice drifted into the living room from the large hall. It was firm, very cool and composed, yet soft and faintly husky.
A fiery color, caught Rans's eye. Instantly his gaze focused on the large, ornate mirror in the living room. From his angle it reflected the scene in the hallway, showing the lower half of the staircase where Lara Alexander Cochran had paused.
She was strikingly beautiful. There was no other way to describe her. As Rans openly studied her reflection in the mirror, he felt the stirring of his pulse. She was wearing a tweed suit of ocher gold and brown, while revealing a shapely pair of legs. Despite its bulkiness, the material of her suit seemed to cling to the curve of her thighs and hips. The molding lines of the jacket suggested the slenderness of her waist and the jutting firmness of her breasts, which Rans knew would fill the cupping of his large hands.
If her disturbingly shapely female figure didn't attract a man's attention, then Rans knew the striking combination of shimmering red gold hair and green eyes would. To top it off, Lara Cochran had a face to complement everything else—a vision of perfection from the delicate wing of her brow down a classically straight nose to a mouth with a sensually full lower lip.
The housekeeper discreetly left the couple alone in the hallway, but Rans felt no such compunction to halt his hidden observation.
"Yes, I was looking for you," Trevor replied to her question.