Ruthless

by Lisa Jackson

  She fought tears, but hot and bitter they filled her eyes and ran down the sides of her head to dampen her pillow. She could never live up to her mother’s impossible expectations. Never. Why even try? Whatever she did, it wasn’t good enough. She swallowed back a sob.

  For a long while, she’d guessed that Irene Donahue was in love with her employer. Jonah McKee was a god on earth in Irene’s estimation—his children perfect, all three of them. Max, the oldest, did everything ever expected of him, excelled at anything he tried. Jenner, second born, was more trouble and rebellious, but handsome and cocky. And Casey, the youngest, was Jonah’s little princess. He spoiled her and was proud of it.

  Again Dani felt like a failure and it hurt her to know that her mother was in love with and possibly having an affair with Jonah McKee, the man who had taken care of the Donahue family ever since the accident that had claimed Tom’s life. Their house was paid off and kept up with McKee money. Irene had a decent job with McKee Enterprises, and whenever there was trouble, she turned to Jonah. Dani was mortified that her mother was so dependent upon him and she couldn’t help but wonder if Jonah, in his own twisted way, liked to keep Irene under his all-encompassing thumb.

  Speculation ran high in a town the size of Rimrock, with the wealthiest man so visible. Gossip swept through the narrow streets as quickly as a prairie fire fueled by a hot summer wind. Rumor had it that Jonah liked women—all kinds. His marriage vows were loosely kept, though his wife, Virginia, never seemed to doubt him. No matter what the scandal, Virginia McKee stood by her man, not in the spotlight but just to his side, ever smiling, ever suffering. Dani loathed her.

  Several women in town were rumored to have been Jonah’s mistresses at one time or another. Virginia never wavered in her abject faith and loyalty. What a fool! In Dani’s estimation, love shouldn’t come at the expense of respect. Nor could it be bought. She didn’t care how much money the old creep had; she believed that marriage vows were meant to be upheld—by both parties.

  A soft click indicated that her mother had hung up and Dani closed her eyes, refusing to think about Irene or Jonah or their unhappy situation. Instead, she let her thoughts run in different circles and conjured up the face of Brandon Scarlotti—dark, intense and devastating. She wondered if she’d ever hear from him again. He promised he’d call. What then? Would he ask her out? Probably not, and even if he did, her mother would refuse to let her go. She could hear it now. “You want to go riding with that boy? Oh, honey, why? When there are so many nice boys like one of the McKees or Dale Bateman? Scarlotti’s bad news, let me tell you. I’ve heard it all from Bess and she’s not one to gossip idly . . .” Dani would never hear the end of it if she openly saw Brandon. Not that she had to worry about it. Most likely she’d never see him again.

  * * *

  Brandon rode back to Dawson City and pushed the speed limit. The night-shaded countryside flashed by, but he barely noticed because he was thinking about Dani—a girl he’d never met before, a girl who seemed lodged in his mind. He usually didn’t go for the damsel-in-distress types, but even considering the circumstances, he knew instinctively that Dani Donahue wasn’t a weak female. The defiant tilt of her jaw and the flash of intelligence and humor in her eyes got to him, and though he was loath to admit it, he could still imagine the feel of her arms surrounding his chest and the soft pressure of her breasts against his back. The scent of her perfume still clung to him and he didn’t want it to dissipate.

  “Idiot,” he growled, shifting again. The night screamed past him and he passed Dani’s mother’s car, still intact on the shoulder of the county road. It would probably be safe for the night, and if not, it wasn’t a huge loss. The car was ready for the junkyard.

  He drove through the hills until the lights of Dawson City winked at him, but instead of welcoming beacons leading him home, he thought of them as huge security lamps—the kind that rise from a prison wall, illuminating the cold ground in their harsh glare. All his life he’d felt as if he was locked away, imprisoned by responsibility.

  He tried to shake off the feeling as he wheeled into the old subdivision where his mother had lived for what seemed to Brandon to be a thousand years. Nothing ever changed here. Nothing ever got better. Things might not have been so bleak if his old man had hung around, but when Jake Kendall had learned that Venitia was pregnant, he’d taken a permanent hike, never once meeting the son he’d sired.

  An A number-one jerk.

  Brandon parked his bike near his mother’s old Ford. The lights in the house were blazing as he walked up the back steps and let himself in. “Ma?” he called, not expecting an answer and not getting one.

  A cold feeling spread through him and he wondered why, after all these years, he wasn’t numb, why he still cared.

  Because she tried her best. It wasn’t good enough, but damn it, she tried her best!

  “Ma?”

  Nothing. Just the sound of the clock ticking on the mantel and the low rumble of the television. He rounded the corner to the living room and found her curled in a corner of the couch, her head propped up by a shiny overstuffed arm, her wineglass empty on a nearby table, the bottle lying on its side half-under the couch.

  “Why?” he whispered, trying to stem the anger that usually overtook him when he found her like this. A cigarette was smoldering in the overflowing ashtray and he knew why he stayed, why he hadn’t moved out, though inside he was screaming to leave. She needed him. It was that simple. And that hard. “Come on, Ma,” he said, hauling her into his arms. She was thin, almost waiflike, and her eyes fluttered open just long enough for her to smile—still a beautiful smile—as she touched the side of his face with cool fingers.

  “Brand. You know you’re a good boy, don’ ya . . .” Anything else she said was lost as he carried her into her bedroom and gently folded back the old chenille spread. She made smacking noises with her lips then returned to a semi-fetal position as he turned out the light.

  “Night, Ma,” he whispered and knew she wouldn’t answer. The weight of responsibility, as heavy as a ton of bricks, slumped his shoulders. He snapped out the lights and stopped in the living room to extinguish the burning cigarette before dumping the entire contents of the overflowing ashtray into the fireplace.

  Once the house was dark, he stared past the streetlights to the dark hills surrounding the town and knew that he’d never leave—not until he was certain she could take care of herself. And that, he realized with an air of fatality, might be never. Even if she did end up marrying Alvin Cunningham, a sawmill worker who’d been sniffing around for the past year or so.

  Though Venitia talked about leaving Dawson City, about marrying Alvin, Brand didn’t believe it; he didn’t want to believe it. Because he was certain that she could do better. She certainly deserved it.

  * * *

  “I didn’t catch the name of the guy who gave you a ride the other night,” Irene said as she picked the clothes out of the hamper and frowned at the filthy state of Dani’s jeans and blouse.

  Dani was washing up, standing at the bathroom sink in her bra and panties as she wiped the dust and grime off her body from hours in the saddle. She hesitated, decided she didn’t want to worry her mother any further, and lied. “I thought I told you that I didn’t ask who he was. He didn’t say.” What good would it do for her mother to know that she’d clung to Brandon Scarlotti and never wanted to let go?

  “Odd, don’t you think? You rode all those miles and didn’t exchange names?” Irene was obviously dubious. Her gaze said as much in the mirror’s reflection.

  “It was confusing and a little scary—leaving the car and getting on the bike. I . . . I just didn’t think about it.” With a shrug, Dani lathered her arms and face with soap. “It—it was kind of a crazy night. I was worried about the car.”

  “I know, but surely—”

  “I didn’t tell him my name, he didn’t tell me his, okay? He was just a decent guy who went out of his way to bring me here. I didn’t
ask to see any of his ID and it was so dark I doubt that I would know him if I tripped over him.” Boy, she was getting good at lying. It scared her a little.

  “I hope you thanked him.”

  “Of course I did.”

  “But you didn’t recognize him?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you?” Dani demanded. “He was a stranger. I’m sorry that I didn’t put him through the third degree.” She kept the edge in her voice in the frail hope that her mother might take the hint and back off.

  Irene didn’t look convinced, but Dani ignored her, rinsed the soap from her skin, turned off the water and buried her face in a thin towel. She dabbed the moisture from her face and arms, and when she was finished, her mother had disappeared, along with the dirty laundry from the bathroom. The truth of the matter was that Dani was disappointed. She’d hoped that Brandon would call, though she didn’t really understand why. She dated a lot of boys, never tied herself down, promised herself that she wouldn’t fall into the same trap as her mother by becoming so dependent on one man. So why did she think about Brandon Scarlotti night and day?

  Probably because it was safe to fantasize about him. He was off-limits. A little older than she, he ran with a faster crowd and wouldn’t be interested in a senior in high school.

  She changed into clean shorts and a sleeveless blouse that she tied under her breasts. Twisting her hair into a ponytail, she walked into the living room, where her mother, seated near the window, was sorting through the mail. A letter from the high school was lying open on the couch beside her. “You were nearly suspended last week for being caught with cigarettes in your purse,” Irene accused.

  “Yeah, it fell open and the pack slid under Martin Olson’s desk in health class.” Smiling, Dani thought of the expression on the face of her teacher, Miss Vann, as the cigarettes spilled onto the shiny linoleum. Her lecture that day had been on lung cancer, heart disease and the hazards of smoking.

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  Dani flopped into her favorite old rocker and tucked her legs beneath her, poised for the lecture that was sure to come. “It slipped my mind—”

  “No, Danielle, it didn’t. You hoped I wouldn’t find out.”

  Scooting low on her back, Dani countered, “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “You’re too young to smoke,” Irene said, then looked guiltily at the steel ashtray shaped like a horseshoe that sat prominently in a corner of the coffee table.

  “How old were you when you started?”

  “We’re not talking about me.”

  “How old?”

  “Back then we didn’t know better, didn’t realize all the health hazards. When I started, there weren’t all the warning labels or all this brouhaha over secondhand smoke or low birth weight in babies . . .” Irene’s back stiffened and she looked very much like she wanted a cigarette. “I was never suspended from school.”

  “Neither was I.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Mom? How old?”

  Sighing, Irene slid her reading glasses off the end of her nose. “Okay, not that it matters, but I was fifteen. My cousin, Nick, swiped a pack from his father’s store and we each tried a couple.”

  “I’m seventeen.”

  “I know, but I wish I’d never started. Every day I wish I could quit.”

  “I can quit any time I want.”

  Irene pinned her daughter with her knowing glare. “You just don’t want to, is that it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Then you’re not as smart as I think you are.”

  “That’s the problem, Mom. I’m not smart. Not like Skye.”

  Irene stacked the mail on a side table and sighed sadly. Removing her glasses, she rubbed her temple as if staving off a headache. “You don’t have to be like Skye, Dani. How many times do I have to tell you? You’re different and smart in other ways.”

  “Other ways?” Dani repeated. “You mean other than school.”

  “You don’t apply yourself in school.”

  “I hate school.”

  “No, you don’t—”

  “Yeah, Mom, I do. And I won’t be a Goody Two-shoes like Skye, so none of the teachers like me. They’re all full of—”

  “Don’t even think it!” Closing her eyes wearily, Irene slowly shook her head. For the first time, Dani noticed the streaks of gray that had begun to thread through her mother’s hair. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately.”

  “Neither do I,” Dani said, then felt like a heel. She didn’t want to make her mother’s life more difficult; she just wanted to live her own. Her way. By her rules. “Hey, I’m sorry—”

  Irene waved off her apology.

  “How’s the car?” she finally asked, guilt climbing up to sit on her shoulders.

  “I get it back tomorrow, but Jonah thinks I should sell it. Even with a new battery and brakes, it needs help. The transmission’s going and there’s something about a problem with the driveline.”

  “That’s what Jonah says?” Dani couldn’t hide the sarcasm that stole through her voice.

  “He’s a smart man, Dani. He wouldn’t have made his fortune if he didn’t understand business.”

  “He inherited money.”

  “And made a whole lot more. Besides, he checked with his mechanic. The car won’t make it through the winter.”

  Dani felt a pang of sympathy for her mother. Being single wasn’t easy; loving a married man who would never return her feelings had to be hell.

  “Jonah found a used Buick. Four years old, one owner, not many miles. He thinks I should buy it.”

  “He picked out a car for you? And you let him?”

  “I just asked his advice.”

  Dani couldn’t hide her dismay. “Jeez, Mom, can’t you find your own car—”

  “You don’t understand,” Irene snapped, standing quickly and scattering the mail on the floor. “Oh, Lordy, now look what you made me do! Someday you’ll figure out, Danielle, that a person can’t bulldoze through life all by herself. That she needs assistance, that sometimes it’s better to ask for help than to try to fix things on her own. You’re a good example of that! What would you have done without the help of that boy on the motorcycle the other night?”

  “It’s not the same.” Dani reached down and handed her mother a stack of envelopes, all bills. Again she felt the stranglehold of guilt. Who was she to complain about her mother’s choices when deep down she knew that Irene was doing the best she could, all because she wanted her daughters to have easier lives than she’d had.

  “No, you’re right. It’s not the same—not exactly. But believe me, it just doesn’t get any easier. Now, if you’re smart, you’ll quit smoking, study hard and hope we can find a way to send you to college. That money you’re saving for a horse would be well spent on classes at the community college.” She straightened and marched to the kitchen.

  Dani bit back a hot retort. Her mother had never understood her fascination with horses. Growing up in San Francisco and never having ridden, Irene hadn’t experienced the blast of freedom that Dani felt every time she was astride a fleet horse, how her heart seemed to beat in tandem with the rhythm of thundering hoofbeats, how sometimes she felt that animals understood her better than any human being ever could.

  The phone rang and Dani unfolded her legs as Irene answered in the kitchen. “Just a minute,” she heard her mother tell the caller before yelling toward the living room. “It’s for you.”

  For the millionth time, Dani wished for another extension, but she pushed herself upright, walked down the short hallway and took the receiver from her mother’s hand. “Hello?”

  “Hi.”

  Her heart kicked a little and she licked her lips. Brandon. Though she’d only met him once, she’d recognize his voice even if he were calling from Timbuktu.

  “It’s Brand.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Winding the cord through her fingers, she turned her back to her mother, avoiding
Irene’s curious stare.

  “I thought we should see each other again.”

  Her heart soared before quickly falling to earth and crashing on the cold stones of reality. Her mother would never let her go out with him, especially not now after the note from the school about her nearly being suspended. “Sure,” she said brightly, the wheels spinning in her mind as she fabricated an excuse to get out of the house. It wasn’t a lie—well, not a big one, and besides, this was her chance to be with Brand.

  “How about tonight?”

  “Okay.” She licked her lips nervously. How was she going to pull this off?

  “I’ll be over about—”

  “I’ll meet you there,” she said quickly. “In the library. Second floor.”

  “The library ... what is this?” he asked.

  “That would be great.” She forced a smile and faced her mother even though she felt as if her insides were in a vise that was slowly being tightened. “See you in a little while, about seven.”

  “Oh, I get it—you’re in some kind of trouble. Grounded?”

  “Right.”

  “And you don’t want your folks to know that you’re going out?”

  “I’ll be at a table near the back window.”

  “I don’t like sneaking around,” he said bluntly, and her fingers curled over the receiver until her knuckles showed white.

  “Neither do I. But it’s the way it’s got to be.” She hung up, her heart pumping wildly. His words scorched through her brain and her hands were shaking so badly she shoved them into the back pockets of her shorts. Her mother, leaning against the counter, eyed her suspiciously.

  Dani usually wasn’t one to lie but recently she’d been coming up with stories nearly every time she turned around.

  “You’re going to the library?” Irene asked as she began emptying dishes out of the portable dishwasher.