Envious

by Lisa Jackson

  “‘Afraid of’?” Mason took a swallow from his long-necked bottle and let the beer cool his throat. He didn’t like lying; wasn’t much good at it, but knew that once in a while it was necessary. This was one of those times. “Nothing.”

  “Bull.” Jarrod eyed him with the calm of a cougar advancing upon a lamb. He leaned forward. “You’re scared that Patty’s involved up to her eyeballs in old man Wells’s disappearance.”

  “I don’t know how.” That much was the truth, though he couldn’t help suspecting that Patty, with her penchant for trouble, knew something about their uncle’s vanishing act. What, he couldn’t imagine, but then Patty always kept him guessing. He never knew what to expect from his mule-headed sister.

  “Yeah, and I’m the Pope.”

  “Why would I pay you a lot of money if I already knew the answer?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” He hoisted his empty bottle and signaled to a bored-looking waitress. “Hey, Tammy, how about another one?” He motioned to Mason. “For him, too.”

  She nodded a head of overbleached and kinky-permed hair, and Jarrod swung his gaze to his friend again. “I get the feeling that you’ve led me on a wild-goose chase, Lafferty, and I don’t like being played for a fool. You know that.”

  “Look, I don’t know where Patty is and I sure as hell can’t begin to figure out what happened to old Isaac. As much of a pain in the butt as he was, most of the people in this county think it’s a blessing that he’s gone, but I’m not one of them.”

  Jarrod snorted as Mason drained his beer. “Right.”

  The waitress, slim in her blue jeans and white T-shirt, deposited two more bottles on the table. “Anything else?”

  “Not just yet,” Jarrod said, flashing her a smile that was known to break women’s hearts.

  She, today, wasn’t in the mood. “Just let me know,” she said sourly and took the empties.

  “You got it.” Jarrod rolled the new bottle between his palms.

  Jarrod had phoned Mason, invited him for a drink, and Mason had agreed. He needed something—anything—to get his mind off Bliss. But he wasn’t too keen on being grilled by his old friend.

  Jarrod checked his watch. “Look, I’ve got to go, but there’s one more thing.”

  “Shoot.”

  “It’s about Mom.”

  “Brynnie?”

  With a sharp nod, Jarrod settled back in the booth. “She’s in a pile of trouble because of her deal with you about her acres of the ranch. Old man Cawthorne is fit to be tied and he wants blood. Yours and Mom’s.”

  “So I heard.”

  “Yeah. He feels that she betrayed him.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?”

  Jarrod rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know. Maybe sell the ranch back to her.” At the tightening of Mason’s jaw, Jarrod sighed and shook his head. “Hey, you know there’s no love lost between the man and me. I’d just as soon spit on Cawthorne as talk to him, but he’s gonna be my stepfather—like it or not. And for some unfathomable reason, he makes Mom happy. Or he did, until she up and sold out to you. Now he’s hot under the collar, furious with her, and she’s got her back up. They’re barely talking and they’re supposed to be tying the knot.”

  “Sounds like a marriage made in heaven,” Mason observed.

  “There is no such thing,” Jarrod replied, finishing his drink and reaching into the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet. “You, of all people, should know that. This one’s on me, Lafferty.” He tossed a few bills onto the table.

  “I’ll buy next time.”

  “Nope.” Jarrod climbed to his feet. “Just be straight with me.”

  “Always am,” Mason said, inwardly cringing at the lie.

  “Good.” They walked outside where a summer breeze was chasing down the dusty streets and a million stars were visible over the faint glow of the sparse streetlights. “So, are you going to give me a hint about where that sister of yours could be?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have to hire you.”

  One side of Jarrod’s mouth lifted. “But you’re holding back. I can feel it. Don’t you know that confession’s good for the soul?”

  “Got nothing to confess.”

  “That’ll be the day.” Jarrod opened the door of his pickup and paused. “By the way, I heard through the grapevine that you’ve been seeing Bliss again.”

  The muscles in Mason’s shoulders bunched. “That grapevine’s all twisted the wrong way. She won’t have anything to do with me.”

  Jarrod pulled on his chin and hesitated for a second before dispensing his advice. “Just tread softly. Old man Cawthorne’s already on the warpath.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of Mason’s mouth. “So I’m supposed to back off?”

  “Just be careful.” Jarrod slid into the seat and jammed his keys into the ignition. “And be smart. Bliss is a classy lady.”

  “I noticed.”

  “She deserves the best.”

  “Don’t we all?”

  Jarrod started the engine and his mouth tightened. “Don’t use her, okay? I know you have a thing—some kind of personal vendetta—against her old man, but don’t use her to get back at him.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” The last thing in the world he wanted to do was hurt Bliss, but he damned sure wanted to make love to her. And that was a problem—a problem that had been with him since the first time he’d seen her so many years ago, a problem he couldn’t begin to solve.

  But then again, he was a firm believer in the old “Nothing ventured, nothing gained” theory. Now was as good a time as any to test it.

  On Bliss.

  * * *

  Astride Fire Cracker, Bliss craned her neck and peered over the edge of the ridge. Full from the spring runoff, the river far below slashed wildly over stones and fallen trees, carving a rushing swath through the stony canyon as it had on the day she’d nearly lost her life at this very spot.

  Her heart began to pound and her hands sweated on the reins as the memories of that fateful afternoon ricocheted through her mind. She remembered Mason’s warnings as clearly as if he’d just uttered them....

  “Don’t be a fool.”

  Too late, she thought. She’d always been a fool for Mason Lafferty. They’d been so young, so innocent, and so afraid of falling in love.

  It seemed as if everything and nothing had changed. Slowly she dismounted.

  The wind stirred, rustling through the trees and causing wildflowers to bend in its wake. Bliss sighed for all the could-have-beens until she noticed the shadow creeping slowly beside her. Squinting against the sun she saw Mason, tall astride his horse, rangy and rugged as the mountains that towered around them.

  Her heart squeezed as it always did when she was alone with him, and a tiny voice inside reminded her that he was the one—he had forever been the one—who was wedged deep in her heart, be he bad, good or indifferent. “Mason,” she said, surprised that her voice had lost some of its timbre.

  “Thought I might find you here.” He swung down from his gelding and let the horse roam free.

  “Did you? Why?”

  “Because, like it or not, Bliss, I know you.”

  Her throat turned to dust but she wouldn’t be so easily seduced. “No, Lafferty, you don’t know a damned thing about me. Not anymore.”

  Slowly he sauntered toward her. “When you weren’t at the house and Delores said you’d taken off riding, I thought I’d be able to catch up with you. So I, well, ‘borrowed,’ I guess you’d say, one of the horses in the stables and rode out here. After all, this is the scene of the crime, so to speak.”

  “‘Crime’? You mean accident.” Oh, God, his eyes were such an incredible hue of gold.

  He lifted a shoulder. “Whatever.” The corners of his mouth twisted. “I—” His gaze centered on hers and she knew in an instant that he was searching for her soul. “I thought there were some things you and I should get straight.”

  �
�Like what?” she asked warily and wished her pulse would slow a little. So he’d followed her out here, so they were alone together in the dying sunlight, so her throat was as dry as a desert wind, so what?

  “I wanted to say that I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Somewhere nearby a crow cawed loudly.

  She stiffened. “You didn’t.”

  “Of course, I did.” He closed the short distance between them.

  Trying to back away, she nearly stumbled but his hands, rough and large, caught her and held her upright. His fingertips were warm through the light cotton of her blouse and she felt them press intimately against her ribs, as if there were no barrier, no flimsy piece of cloth separating his skin from hers.

  “Terri didn’t mean anything to me, Bliss,” he said, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

  “Then why did you sleep with her?”

  “It was before I met you. Before I understood.”

  “Understood what?”

  He hesitated for a second. “What caring about a person is all about.”

  Oh, God, she wanted to believe him. But there was too much time, too many lies. “Mason, you don’t have to explain.”

  “Like hell.” Shifting clouds covered the sun in a soft, thin veil.

  “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

  “It matters to me.” A lick of lightning flared in his eyes and in that split second she knew he was going to kiss her. Not just once, but many times, with a pulsing passion that was certain to be her downfall.

  She tried to pull away, but his hands held her fast and when his lips claimed hers the whimper of protest forming in her throat turned into a soft moan of pure female wanting. Dear God, she’d waited so long for this. Much too long. Kissing him seemed so natural, so right, and yet . . . His tongue slid easily between her teeth and beyond, searching and teasing, tasting and flicking against its mate.

  Bliss was lost. All thoughts of denial swiftly fled. As the horses, bridles jangling, grazed on the summer grass and a hawk circled lazily in the cloudless sky, Mason kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her throat. Her skin quivered with each brush of his lips and she couldn’t protest as his weight pulled them both to the soft carpet of grass covering the ground.

  “I told myself to forget you,” he whispered.

  “I know. I did, too.”

  “But I couldn’t.”

  She didn’t argue, didn’t bring up the fact that he’d married another woman. Right now, alone on this grassy ridge, with an outcropping of stone near the edge and the forest so close, she closed her eyes and gave in to the sensations that she’d denied for oh-so-many years.

  Her heart thundered; her skin was on fire. Strong arms held her fast, firm lips loved her as if she were the only woman on earth.

  As the wind picked up, he lowered himself over her and the intimacy of his weight pressed against hers felt so right. Kissing each patch of her exposed skin, he drew her closer. With deft fingers, he unbuttoned her blouse and the warm air of summer touched her skin.

  Slowly he kissed the dusky hollow between her breasts before he brushed his lips across a lace-encased nipple. “Bliss,” he whispered as she arched her back. “Sweet, sweet Bliss.”

  A yearning, feminine and wanton, swirled deep inside her and seeped into her blood. He lifted one breast from the lacy bounds of her bra, and her nipple puckered in expectation.

  “Mason—” she cried as his mouth found her nipple and gently suckled. “Oh . . .” She should stop this madness, stanch the heat flowing wildly through her blood, halt the driving need that was causing her to want him so badly.

  “That’s it, darlin’,” he murmured as his hands moved to the waistband of her jeans. “Let go.”

  “I—I can’t.”

  “Sure, you can.” His mouth was wet velvet, smooth and slick, his tongue wantonly teasing her as he slid her jeans over her hips.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she should stop him, that letting him touch her was downright dangerous, but as he trailed his tongue along her bare skin she melted inside and passion ruled over reason. His lips were hot, his breath a warm summer breeze that rolled over her, and she trembled deep inside.

  This was wrong. So how could it feel so right? Through her panties his lips and tongue touched her, parting her legs, creating a hot pool of lust that ached for all of him. “Mason, please . . .” she rasped as he teased at the elastic of her underwear with his teeth.

  He slipped his hands beneath the silk. “Trust me,” he said, and her heart nearly broke. Hadn’t she trusted him with her love—with her very life—ten years ago?

  Slowly he touched her. With infinite care he explored and caressed while his lips pressed anxious kisses to her abdomen. She closed her eyes and the world seemed to swirl on a new and separate axis. He rimmed her navel with his tongue and she felt perspiration soak through her skin. She knew nothing more than the feel and smell of him. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the storm of desire sweeping through her, moved under the gentle tutelage of his fingers, cried out as the world spun out of control and the universe, stars and rainbows, collided behind her eyes.

  “That’s my girl,” he whispered, as she quivered and his arms surrounded her. He kissed her gently on the stomach, then held her close.

  Her mind reeling, she looked up into his gold eyes. “But”—she cleared her throat—“what about . . . what about . . . you?”

  With a cynical smile, he drew her even closer, his nose pressed to the crook of her neck. “Another time, darlin’,” he promised, then kissed the side of her throat. “Another time.”

  * * *

  Despite the open windows, the air inside the house was airless and hot. Most of the tension was due to the fact that Brynnie had come over to make amends with her intended, but some of the frustration Bliss was feeling was because she hadn’t seen Mason in several days. She didn’t understand what had happened to them up on the ridge—why he hadn’t made love to her—and she hadn’t been able to think of much else.

  “A curse, that’s what it is,” she told Oscar, and the dog, seated on a chair, his chin between his paws, wagged his tail. “Men. Who needs them?”

  As for her father, John Cawthorne wasn’t ready to reconcile with Brynnie. He obviously felt betrayed and bamboozled and kept reminding the woman he supposedly loved that she was some kind of traitor.

  “Oh, I give.” Bliss threw down her pencil and walked from the den toward the kitchen. As she passed the dining-room windows, she heard the sound of tires crunching against the gravel in the driveway.

  For a split second she thought Mason might have come by the house and her heart did a stupid little leap, but she glanced out the window and spied Katie, all business, striding to the front door. Disappointment settled upon her, though she couldn’t explain why. Just because she hadn’t seen Mason in a few days was no reason to get a case of the blues. Oh, she was being such a ninny. What did she care about him? Who cared if she spent her nights sleeplessly remembering how he kissed her and caused her insides to tremble?

  The bell rang just as Bliss yanked open the door. Oscar let out a few excited barks and scrambled to the doorway, jumping wildly on Katie as she breezed into the house. “Hi,” Katie said a trifle breathlessly. “Is Mom here?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Good.” Katie hurried down the hallway to find her mother stirring a bowl of strawberries, sugar and pectin together as she made freezer jam. John was sitting at the table reading the paper.

  “Katie!” Her mother looked up and beamed. “What brings you out here?”

  “I, uh, thought it might be a good time for Bliss to meet Tiffany.” She glanced at Bliss. “I know it’s kind of sudden, but I’m not working today and Josh is over at Laddy’s, so I thought if you have the time . . .”

  Bliss cleared her throat and noticed that her father, looking over the tops of his reading glasses, was staring at her. There was something akin to hope in his eyes. “Are you sure she wants to meet me
?”

  “I don’t know,” Katie replied honestly.

  “Why wouldn’t she?” John demanded.

  “Oh, Dad, come on. If you can’t figure it out, I’m not going to spell it for you.”

  “You’re a wonderful person and—”

  “And I’m your daughter. Your legitimate daughter—the one you claimed.”

  “We’re all adults, now,” he said stubbornly. “And she’s got a couple of kids. I’m their grandfather.”

  Grandfather. Bliss held back the argument that was brewing in her mind. Her father was a grandfather—three times over—and though she had trouble with the concept, he didn’t. A little spurt of jealousy flowed through her veins. For most of her life she’d thought she would be the only bearer of Cawthorne grandkids. If she could. That was still a question. It was funny, in a bitter way, how life had turned out, and again she felt an empty space, a small hole in her life—one that only a child could fill.

  “That’s why I think we should talk to Tiffany. See her face-to-face,” Katie said.

  “Maybe you should slow down a mite.” Brynnie patted Katie’s hand and Bliss felt a lump forming in her throat. Though she and her mother hadn’t been the touch-and-hug kind of mother and daughter, they’d been close, and seeing this display of affection between Brynnie and Katie brought to the surface a part of her she’d tried to suppress—the part of her that missed Margaret Cawthorne so badly that sometimes she still fought tears. “Tiffany might need a little more time, you know, to get used to things.”

  “It’s been over thirty years,” John interjected.

  “But not for her.” Brynnie took a chair at the table so she could face Bliss’s father. “You know she might not come to the wedding. You’ll have to accept that.”

  “Don’t know if I can.” Taking off his reading glasses, he rubbed one hand over his face and Bliss was struck by how he’d aged in the past few years.

  “Look, let’s not get all tied in knots about it,” Katie said. “Just tell me how the wedding plans are coming along.”

  “Humph!” John pushed his chair back.

  “They’re fine.” Brynnie shot him a look that dared him to argue, but for once, John Cawthorne held his tongue.