Dollenganger 04 Seeds of Yesterday by V. C. Andrews Page B

know, your mother and I are here just to help Bart celebrate his twenty-fifth birthday."
I looked over toward where Bart smashed the tennis ball with such force it's a wonder it didn't burst. Running like a streak of white light, Jory slammed the yellow ball back to Bart, who ran just as fast to swoop and cleverly whack it back with just as much force. Both were hot and sweaty, their faces reddening from the exercise and the hot sun. "Jory, Bart," I called, "Cindy's here. Come to say hello."
Instantly Jory turned his head to smile, causing him to miss the next yellow ball that came hurtling his way. He failed to return it, and Bart whooped for joy. He jumped up and down, hurled down his expensive racket, shouting, "I win!"
"You win by default," said Jory, throwing down his racket as well. He ran our way, his face all smiles. He threw back at Bart, "Default winning doesn't count."
"It does so count!" bellowed Bart. "What the hell do we care whether or not Cindy's here? You just used that to quit before my score topped yours."
"Have it your way," answered Jory. In a moment he was swinging Cindy off her feet, whirling her around and around, making her blue skirt fly and reveal skimpy bikini panties. It amused me to see that Cindy still dressed from the skin out in one color.
Melodie rose from a marble garden seat where she'd been watching the tennis game, until now half hidden by high shrubbery. I saw her lips tighten as she observed Cindy's too affectionate greeting.
"Like mother like daughter," mumbled Bart from 'behind me.
Cindy approached Bart warily, with so much decorum she didn't seem like the same girl who had kissed Jory. "Hello, brother Bart. You're looking very fit."
Bart stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. It had been two years, and at fourteen, Cindy had still worn her hair in pigtails, or ponytails, and she had braces on her teeth. Now her gleaming white teeth were perfectly spaced. Her hair was a loose-flowing mass of molten gold. There wasn't a girl in the skin magazines that had a better figure or more perfect complexion, and only too unhappily I realized that Cindy knew she looked sensational in her tight blue and white tennis dress.
Bart's dark eyes lingered on her ripe, unfettered breasts that jiggled when she walked, their peaks jutting out clearly. His eyes measured her hand-span waist before he stared at her pelvic area; then he lowered his eyes to take in very pretty long legs that ended in white sandals. Her toenails were painted bright red to match her fingernails and lipstick.
She was breathtakingly lovely in a sweet, fresh and innocent way that strove unsuccessfully to appear sophisticated. I didn't believe for a moment that that long, intense look she gave Bart meant what apparently he took it to mean.
"You're not my type," he said scornfully; turning away. When he did, he stared long and meaningfully at Melodie. Then again he turned to Cindy. "You have a certain cheap quality, despite all your expensive clothes--you don't possess nobility."
It hurt to hear him deliberately try and squelch Cindy's youthful pride. Her radiant expression faded. Like a tender flower without the admiration of rain to nourish her faith in herself, she wilted before me as she turned into Chris's waiting arms.
"Apologize, Bart," ordered Chris. I cringed, knowing Bart would never apologize.
Bart curled his lips, his scorn so apparent, even as he acted indignant and angry. His lips parted to insult Chris as he'd done so many times, but then he glanced at Melodie, who'd turned to look at him in a detached, curious way. A deep flush heated Bart's face. "I'll apologize when she learns how to dress and act like a lady."
"Apologize now, Bart," ordered Chris.
"Don't make demands, Christopher," said Bart, looking Chris meaningfully in the eyes. "You're in a very vulnerable position. You and my mother. You're not a Sheffield, not a Foxworth--or at least you can't let it be known you're a Foxworth. So just what are you that