Confessions: He's the Rich BoyHe's My Soldier Boy

by Lisa Jackson

  Gritting her teeth, she took a corner a little too fast, the Jeep’s tires skidded and spun and she slid into the oncoming lane. From years of practice negotiating the icy roads in Alaska, she turned into the slide and guided the Cherokee back to the right-hand lane. Her heart was pounding, her hands tight around the steering wheel and she couldn’t help remembering Ben and how much she’d once loved him.

  It had been summer when she’d crashed that party, a warm July night filled with the sound of crickets and thick with the scent of honeysuckle. She’d been young and reckless and anxious to experience all that life had to offer.

  Because of Ben Powell. Ben with his irreverent smile, his intense hazel eyes and his promises.... Dear God, why couldn’t she forget him? Why did just the sight of him inspire memories that she’d kept locked away in a dark corner of her heart and promised herself that she’d never open?

  As an old Fleetwood Mac song about the chains of love filled the interior of her vehicle she hummed along.

  Despite all Carlie’s vows to herself, her mind circled backward in time to the hot summer nights that had changed the course of her life forever....

  BOOK ONE

  Whitefire Lake, California

  Eleven Years Earlier

  Chapter One

  “MAYBE WE SHOULD turn back.” Carlie gnawed nervously on the inside of her lip, but continued to paddle forward. She didn’t usually second-guess herself, and she’d always been adventurous, but this time she questioned her own wisdom as she dipped her oar into the water and glanced over her shoulder to her friend, Brenda, paddling steadily at the stern of the small rowboat.

  Dusk gathered lazily over the lake. Water skippers and dragonflies skimmed the clear surface and mosquitoes droned in the early-evening air.

  “Turn back now? Are you crazy?” Brenda asked, clucking her tongue in disappointment. With springy red curls, freckles and eyes the color of chocolate, Brenda was new to Gold Creek, but she and Carlie were fast becoming friends. “This was your idea, remember?”

  “Can’t I change my mind?”

  “Not now.” Brenda shoved her oar into the water and threw her shoulders into her stroke. The small boat skimmed closer to their destination, an abandoned log cabin on the south side of the lake.

  The Bait and Fish, lights glowing warmly from the windows, slid by. Flickering neon signs announcing favorite brands of beer stood in stark relief against the weathered old boards. In the distance, near the north shore, speedboats dragged water-skiers. Carlie recognized Brian Fitzpatrick at the helm of a racing silver craft that rimmed the shoreline and left a thick rippling wake over which an experienced skier, probably Brian’s younger sister, Toni, was balanced on one ski.

  “What a life,” Brenda said dreamily as she glanced at the sleek speedboat.

  “You’d want to be a Fitzpatrick?” Carlie shook her head. “With all their troubles?”

  “They’ve got soooo much money.”

  “And soooo many troubles. Haven’t you heard about the root of all evil?”

  “So, let me sin a little.”

  Carlie laughed, enjoying the breath of a breeze that fanned her face and lifted her hair off her shoulders. Though the sun had set in a blaze of gold and pink behind the mountains, the July air was hot and sticky.

  Their destination loomed ahead, a thicket of pines surrounding an ancient cabin with rotting, weather-beaten shingles for a roof and rough log walls. No one knew who owned the property, but the single acre was referred to as the “old Daniels’s place” by most of the people in town. Jed Daniels built the cabin for his bride just before the turn of the century, and successive generations of Daniels’ kin had used the place as a summer cottage. Eventually the Daniels family was spread too far and thin to keep up the house, but if the place had ever been sold, no one in town talked of it.

  Carlie eased the rowboat to the old dock of weathered pilings and broken boards. Though the house was dark, music and laughter drifted through the broken, boarded-up windows, and she recognized an old song by the Rolling Stones.

  She bit her lower lip and worried it over her teeth. What was it about her that was always seeking out adventure or “looking for trouble,” as her father had so often said?

  “She’s just curious, nothing wrong with that.” Her mother, Thelma, had quickly defended her only child on more than one occasion. “She’s got a quick mind and she gets bored easily.”

  “Dreamin’, that’s what she’s doin’. Thinkin’ she can become some hot-damn New York model. Where I come from that’s called being too big fer yer britches,” Weldon Surrett had stated as he’d sat at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette.

  “Where you come from, a six-pack of beer and a deck of cards were considered big-time,” her mother teased gently, then adjusted the skirt of her uniform and kissed her husband on the cheek. “See you after my shift.” Thelma had always been defensive of Carlie. Sometimes she went too far and was overprotective. Carlie blamed it on the fact that her mother couldn’t have any more children. A hysterectomy one year after Carlie’s birth had denied Thelma the large family she’d always wanted. Consequently, Thelma had poured all her motherly affection, concern and love onto her only child. If it weren’t for the fact that Thelma’s job at the Rexall Drugstore in town kept her busy, she would surely have suffocated Carlie with all her good intentions long ago.

  “This is the place?” Brenda asked skeptically as she eyed the dilapidated cabin.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You sure you heard right?”

  “Positive.”

  “And Ben Powell will be here?” Brenda lifted a doubtful eyebrow.

  “I heard him talking to his brother,” Carlie said as the boat rocked softly against the dock. She’d run into Ben and Kevin at the new video store that had opened up near the supermarket. The boys had been arguing about which movie to rent when Kevin had looked up and caught her staring at them. Carlie felt a little jab of guilt when she remembered the spark of interest in Kevin’s eyes when he’d caught her gaze.

  Kevin was older than Ben and had spent a year away at college before Kevin’s grades had slipped and the money had run out for his education. Now he was working at Monroe Sawmill and was unhappy with his life. He and Carlie had dated several times, but then she’d stopped seeing him. Kevin was seven years older than she, and was much too serious and possessive. By the third date, Carlie had known that their relationship was doomed. He began calling twice a day, demanding to know where she’d been, jealous of her friends and the time she’d spent away from him. After three lousy dates!

  She’d never really broken up with him because they’d never really gone together; she’d just stopped going out with him. He spent a lot of his time at the Buckeye Restaurant and Lounge, drinking beer and watching sports on television through a smoky haze as he relived his own days of glory as one of the best basketball players to ever graduate from Tyler High School.

  Carlie shuddered, thinking of Kevin. Too many times he’d wanted to touch her, kiss her, get her alone. They hadn’t had one thing in common and she probably didn’t have much more with Kevin’s younger brother, Ben.

  So what was she doing here? Crashing a party because of Ben Powell, Kevin’s younger brother? Boy, Carlie, you are looking for trouble!

  She tied the boat to one of the sturdier pilings, walked carefully across the bleached boards and hiked along a weed-choked path to the broad front porch, where an old rocking chair swayed slightly with the breeze. The sound of voices grew louder, some from inside the house, others from around back, but a heavy chain and padlock on the front door suggested they find another entrance.

  “I’m starting to have second thoughts about this,” Brenda admitted. “It’s kind of creepy, you know. Aren’t there laws about criminal trespass and breaking and entering?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to turn back!” Carlie, too, was torn. She remembered another party, less than a year before, when a group of kids were gathered at the F
itzpatrick house on the other side of the lake. Things got out of hand and Roy Fitzpatrick, the golden boy of Gold Creek, heir to the Fitzpatrick fortune, had been killed.

  Jackson Moore was suspected and arrested for the crime, but Carlie’s best friend, Rachelle Tremont, had given Jackson the alibi he needed to avoid being indicted. Jackson had walked away from jail a free man, but he’d left town, leaving Rachelle with a soiled reputation and a broken heart.

  The aftermath of the party had been devastating, but now, even remembering the hell the Fitzpatricks and Tremonts had gone through, Carlie still couldn’t turn around. The lure of seeing Ben was greater than her fear of being caught breaking some kind of minor law. She walked off the porch and took an overgrown trail of flagstones toward the back.

  Why she was so attracted to Ben, she didn’t know. He should be the one boy in town to avoid, considering the fact that he was Kevin’s younger brother. But everything about Ben appealed to her—his rugged good looks, his easy, slightly cynical smile, his open irreverence for all things monetary.

  Shorter and more compact than Kevin, Ben wasn’t quite six feet, but he was more muscular and his hazel gaze seemed to burn right into her soul. So here she was, acting like a sneak thief, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong and stepping around the corner to...nearly run right into him.

  She gasped and Brenda, walking behind her bumped against her backside.

  Ben didn’t seem the least surprised. Stripped to the waist, wearing faded Levi’s with split knees, he stopped dead in his tracks. A bottle of beer dangled from his fingers and a slow, lazy smile spread across his beard-darkened jaw. “Carlie, right? Carlie Surrett?”

  She nodded, her throat dry, her heart hammering.

  “And I’m Brenda.” Her friend stepped out of Carlie’s shadow to introduce herself.

  Ben seemed amused. His lips twisted upward a little and an intense spark of interest lighted his hazel eyes. Never, not for one second, did his gaze waver from hers.

  Carlie swallowed hard and shoved a handful of hair over her shoulder. She suddenly felt awkward and wondered why she’d been so stupid as to come party crashing.

  “Kevin isn’t here,” Ben said, taking a long pull from the beer. Carlie watched in fascination as he swallowed. Sweat trickled down his neck and his Adam’s apple moved slowly.

  “I didn’t come looking for Kevin.”

  One dark brow shot up. “Who then?”

  “Nobody,” she lied and heard Brenda’s sharp intake of breath. “I just, um, heard there was a party.”

  He leaned a palm against the rough sides of the building and moved his fingertips restlessly along one hand-hewn log. She noticed his tanned arms, the muscles of his shoulders, the veins bulging beneath his skin. “So this is what you do...crash parties?”

  “I didn’t know it was engraved invitation only.”

  He smiled at that. “We were just trying to keep it small. Avoid a fiasco like what happened at the Fitzpatrick place.”

  “No one knows we’re here.”

  “No one?”

  Brenda shook her head.

  “You can trust us,” Carlie said, wondering why she felt like baiting him.

  “Can I?” His eyes narrowed a fraction. “Kevin seems to think you’re his girl.”

  She felt the hackles on the back of her neck rise. “Kevin’s wrong.”

  He took another swig from his beer. “So why he’d get the wrong information?”

  “Look, I don’t think it’s a good idea to discuss—”

  “Kevin got too serious,” Brenda cut in. “Besides, he’s too old for her.” With a shrug she walked past Ben and Carlie. “I’ll let you two work this out.”

  “There’s nothing to work out,” Carlie protested. Heat climbed up her neck and she was suddenly aware that coming here was a big mistake. “Look, maybe Brenda and I should take off.”

  “You just got here.”

  “I know, but—” She waved in the air.

  “You weren’t invited.”

  “Right.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” His gaze held hers and her mouth turned to cotton. The sounds of the night, deep croaks from hidden bullfrogs and the soft chirp of a thousand crickets, were suddenly muted. The fragrance of wild roses soon to go to seed, filtered over the acrid odor of burning wood and exhaust.

  “Let’s go check out the action. That’s why you’re here, aren’t you?”

  “Brenda and I were just taking a turn in the boat. We heard the music....” It was a little bit of a lie, but she couldn’t admit the reason she’d shown up here was because of him.

  “You want a beer?” His gaze was neutral, and yet she felt as if he were challenging her.

  “I guess.”

  With a shrug, he turned and walked barefooted along the dusty path. Nervously, Carlie followed him to what had once been a backyard. Gravel had been strewn near a dilapidated garage, and several cars, pickups and motorcycles had been parked in the rutted lane. A stack of bleached cordwood partially covered with blackberry vines, seemed to prop up a sagging wall of the garage. Kids sat on bumpers of cars, on the drooping back porch or wandered into the house through an open door. A rusted lock was sprung and lay with an equally neglected chain that had slid to the floorboards.

  “Who owns this place?” she asked.

  “One of the guys here—” Ben took the time to point to a pimply-faced boy of about nineteen who was trying to build a fire in an old barbecue pit “—lives in Coleville and claims his uncle is the Daniels’s heir who ended up with the cabin. He says the uncle is trying to sell it.”

  “And he doesn’t care if your friend has a party?”

  Ben slanted her a sly grin. “What do you think?”

  “That the uncle doesn’t have a clue.”

  “Smart girl.”

  Ben introduced her to some of the guests, most of whom were a little older than she was—kids who worked in the mill or the logging company or the Dari-Maid, some with full-time jobs, others who were spending their summer back in Gold Creek until they returned to college in the fall. She knew some of them of course, but there were a lot that she’d never seen before.

  Brenda had already grabbed a beer and was trying to make conversation with Patty Osgood, the reverend’s daughter. Patty was a couple of years older than Carlie, but already had enough of a reputation to turn her father’s hair white, should the good reverend stumble upon the truth.

  Patty sat on the edge of a stump, her long, tanned legs stretched out from shorts that barely covered her rear end and a white blouse knotted beneath her breasts. Her flat abdomen and a flirty glimpse of the hollow between her breasts left little to the imagination.

  Patty wasn’t a really bad girl, but she liked to flaunt the gorgeous body the good Lord had seen fit to bestow upon her—and hang the consequences. She’d dated a lot of boys in town, but now her eyes were on Ben.

  “Well, well, well...” Erik Patton said when Carlie and Ben moved in his direction. Erik dragged on his cigarette and shot smoke out of the side of his mouth. “I didn’t think you’d ever show your face at a beer bash again.” Leisurely, he plucked a flake of tobacco from his tongue and eyed his friend, Scott McDonald. Both boys had been friends of Roy Fitzpatrick and believed Jackson Moore had killed Roy last fall. Most of the citizens of Gold Creek agreed, though Jackson had never been indicted. Only a few people in town believed in Jackson’s innocence. Carlie belonged to that small minority and it obviously bothered Erik, who had given her a ride to the Fitzpatrick summer home on that fateful night.

  Goose bumps rose on her arms. “I was just—”

  “Save it, Surrett,” Erik said through a cloud of smoke. “We were all there. We know what happened.”

  “Jackson didn’t—”

  “Oh, sure he managed to get Rachelle to claim they’d been together all night, but we all know that’s a pile of crap. She just made up the story to give him an alibi.”

  “She wouldn’t!”

&nbs
p; “Sure she would.” Erik let out a sigh of disgust. “She made it with him and she didn’t even know him, did she? Face it, she’s a slut.”

  “Shut up!” Ben ordered, but not before Carlie could lunge at Erik.

  “Don’t you ever—”

  Ben grabbed her arm. “That’s enough,” he said with quiet authority aimed in Erik’s direction. “Maybe you want to apologize.”

  “I just call ’em as I see ’em.”

  “Then you’re blind!” Carlie said.

  Eyes slitting as if he were sizing up the enemy, Erik glared at Ben but had the good sense to back down a little. “Forget it. Forget I said anything.”

  “That’s more like it.” Ben’s gaze could have cut through lead and the smell of a fight filled the air.

  Carlie could hardly breathe and she noticed that all conversation had died and a dozen pairs of eyes were trained on the two boys who were squaring off. She wanted to die a thousand deaths. “Leave Carlie alone, Patton,” Ben said loudly enough so that everyone got the message. “She’s with me.”

  Erik flicked his cigarette into the gravel and ground the smoldering butt with the toe of his boot. “Your loss, man.”

  Ben’s smile was crooked but self-assured. “I don’t think so.”

  Carlie felt Ben’s fingers tighten over her arm and her heart pumped a little faster.

  Scott spit into the scrub oaks, his eyes dark with disgust. “You can have her,” he muttered.

  Embarrassment rushed up Carlie’s neck as she remembered the pickup ride to the Fitzpatricks’ lakeside cabin. She and Rachelle had ridden in the cab of Erik’s truck and Carlie, because of lack of space, had been forced to sit on Scott’s lap. She’d giggled and flirted with him, unaware that what was to happen that night would put her at odds with almost everyone in town—including Erik Patton and Scott McDonald.

  She’d been naive then, younger and foolish and the thought that she’d actually been that close to Scott made her skin crawl.