Read Online Forbidden Son by Loretta C. Rogers - Free Book Online

“Lawsy sakes,
Mr. Tripp, maybe I’d better make you a bowl of oatmeal with honey, ’stead of
grits and eggs.”
    Tripp
accepted the glass of milk, and allowed the cold liquid to slide down his
aching throat. The words came out disjointed when he attempted to speak. “Thank
you.”
    “He’ll
need more than oatmeal to shore him up if he expects to beat me at golf this
morning.”
    Tripp
cleared his throat and gave his father a half-hearted laugh. “Bring on the eggs
and grits, biscuits and bacon, Pearlie Mae. I have a golf game to win.”
    Tripp
smiled to himself. At least he’d gotten over his case of nerves. He downed the
rest of the buttermilk, allowing his mother to reach over and wipe away the
white mustache above his top lip as if he were still her little boy.
    He
focused his attention on her, knowing his father would be the one to reckon
with. “Mother, how would you like to put together a little party? Nothing
fancy, just family and a few of our closest friends.”
    She
pulled her overly painted lips into a pout, reminding him of an unhappy clown.
“ La , I simply refuse to give you a going-away party. Why, you’ve only
been home from college a few weeks, and here you are, off again to hide
yourself away in a stuffy old library filled with dust-laden law books. It just
breaks my heart.”
    Tripp
leaned forward on his elbows. “It isn’t a going-away party, Mother.” He cut his
eyes toward his father. “Remember the young woman I told you about, the one
with the sweet name?”
    He
watched his mother’s shoulders stiffen. “Yes, I do. Garrett, and I recalled how
the Garretts were sharecroppers from Tennessee.”
    Tripp
held her gaze as he reached out and removed the cup from a hand that reminded
him of tissue paper, fragile. “Honey Belle and her parents live on Barrington
Street, Mother. They’ve never lived in Tennessee.”
    She
seemed to brighten. “Well, in that case, is it her birthday, is that why you
want me to host a party?”
    “No,
it’s—” He took a fortifying breath and started again. What did he know about
Honey Belle, what could he tell his parents about her? He could pacify his
mother; his father would have questions. “It’s to announce my engagement. I’ve
asked Honey Belle to be my wife.”
    In
an instant, his father’s face reminded him of a puffed-up toad with a bad case
of constipation. “The hell, you say. I won’t have you throwing away law school
for some cheap skirt wanting to latch on to the Hartwell fortune.”
    Tripp
threw his father an irritated glance and enunciated clearly, “My plans haven’t
changed, Dad. I’m merely adding a wife to the mix. And, so you know, Honey Belle
isn’t cheap, nor is she after money.”
    His
father leaned back and gripped the chair’s arms. “This girl in the family way?”
    It
was like his father not to mince words—to get straight to the point. “No, sir.”
At least Tripp hoped there wasn’t a baby in the oven from their first time
making love, and the many times that had followed the same night. Thinking
about how her blonde hair had shimmered in the moonlight, and the touch of her
silken skin caused him to readjust his position in the chair.
    His
father’s face never got beet red unless his anger was near erupting. “If the
girl isn’t in the family way, then why the rush to get married, and what do you
know about this girl, and her family?”
    “I’m
not rushing, Dad. We haven’t discussed a date. Not yet.” Squaring his
shoulders, Tripp added, “I think Honey Belle would make a beautiful Christmas
bride.” He decided to shift the focus from his father. “What do you think,
Mother—a Christmas wedding?”
    His
mother’s eyes took on a dreamy glow. Like a cloud blotted out by the sun, she
shifted from a sensible, intelligent woman who ran an efficient home and
chaired the local women’s historical society to an angelic child reaching out
to catch imaginary butterflies. He hated the dementia stealing her