Tough Enough

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Yes, but it was your experience that made you put that blood-pressure cuff on my leg, inflate it and stop the hemorrhaging from my foot.”

  He couldn’t deny that. “Anyone would have figured that out.”

  “Maybe,” Rachel hedged as she saw him begin to withdraw from her. Why wouldn’t Jim take due credit for saving her life? The man had great humility. He never said “I,” but rather “we” or “the team,” and she found that a remarkable trait rarely seen in males.

  Lowering her voice, she added, “And I understand from talking to Kate and Jessica, that you gave me a pint of your blood to stabilize me. Is that so?”

  Trying to steel himself against whatever she felt about having his blood in her body, Jim lifted his head. When he met and held her tender gaze, something old and hurting broke loose in his heart. He recalled that look before. Rachel probably had forgotten the incident, but he never had. He had just been coming out of the main doors to go home for the day when he saw that a dog had been hit by a car out in front of the high school. Rachel had flown down the steps of the building, crying out in alarm as the dog was hurled several feet onto the lawn.

  Falling to her knees, she had held the injured animal. Jim had joined her, along with a few other concerned students. Even then, Rachel had been a healer. She had torn off a piece of her skirt and pressed it against the dog’s wounded shoulder to stop the bleeding. Jim had dropped his books and gone to help her. The dog had had a broken leg as well.

  Jim remembered sinking to his knees directly opposite her and asking what he could do to help. The look Rachel was giving him now was the same one he’d seen on her face then. There was such clear compassion, pain and love in her eyes that he recalled freezing momentarily because the energy of it had knocked the breath out of him. Rachel had worn her heart on her sleeve back then, just as she did now. She made no excuses for how she felt and was bravely willing to share her vulnerability.

  Shaken, he rasped, “Yeah, I was the only one around with your blood type.” He opened his hands and looked at them. “I don’t know how you feel about that, but I caught hell from my old man and my brothers about it.” He glanced up at her. “But I’m not sorry I did it, Rachel.”

  Without thinking, Rachel slid her hand into his. Hers was slightly damp, while his was dry and strong and nurturing. She saw surprise come to his eyes and felt him tense for a moment, then relax.

  As his fingers closed over Rachel’s, Jim knew tongues would wag for sure now about them holding hands. But hell, nothing had ever felt so right to him. Ever.

  “I’m grateful for what you did, Jim,” Rachel quavered. “I wouldn’t be sitting here now if you hadn’t been there to help. I don’t know how to repay you. I really don’t. If there’s a way—”

  His fingers tightened around hers. “I’m going hiking in a couple of weeks, near Boynton Canyon. Come with me?” The words flew out of his mouth. What the hell was he doing? Jim couldn’t help himself, nor did he want to. He saw Rachel’s eyes grow tender and her fingers tightened around his.

  “Yes, I’d love to do that.”

  “Even though,” he muttered, “we’ll be the gossip of Sedona?”

  She laughed a little breathlessly. “If I cared, really cared about that, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you right now, would I?”

  A load shifted off his shoulders. Rachel was free in a way that Kate Donovan was not, and the discovery was powerful and galvanizing. Jim very reluctantly released her hand. “Okay, two weeks. I’m free on Saturday. I’ll pack us a winter picnic lunch to boot.”

  “Fair enough,” Rachel murmured, thrilled over the prospect of the hike. “But I have one more favor to ask of you first, Jim.”

  “Name it and it’s yours,” he promised thickly.

  Rachel placed her elbows on the table and lowered her voice. “It’s a big favor, Jim, and you don’t have to do it if it’s asking too much of you.”

  Scowling, he saw the sudden worry and seriousness on her face. “What is it?”

  Moistening her lips, Rachel picked up her purse from the floor and opened it. Taking out a thick, white envelope, she handed it to him. “Read it, please.”

  Mystified, Jim eased the envelope open. It was a wedding invitation—to Kate’s and Jessica’s double wedding, which would be held on Saturday. He could feel the tension in Rachel. His head spun with questions and few answers. Putting the envelope aside, he held her steady gaze.

  “You’re serious about this … invitation?”

  “Very.”

  “Look,” he began uneasily, holding up his hands, “Kate isn’t real comfortable with me being around. I understand why and—”

  “Kate was the one who suggested it.”

  Jim stared at her. “What?”

  Rachel looked down at the tablecloth for a moment. “Jim,” she began unsteadily, her voice strained, “I’ve heard why you came back here, back to Sedona. You want to try and straighten out a lot of family troubles between yourself, your father and two brothers. Kate didn’t trust you at first because of the past, the feud between our families … actually, between our fathers, not us for the most part.” She looked up and held his dark, shadowed gaze. “Kate doesn’t trust a whole lot of people. Her life experiences make her a little more paranoid than me or Jessica, but that’s okay, too. Yesterday she brought this invitation to me and told me to give it to you. She said that because you’d saved my life, she and Jessica wanted you there. That this was a celebration of life—and love—and that you deserved to be with us.”

  He saw the earnestness in Rachel’s eyes. “How do you feel about it? Having the enemy in your midst?”

  “You were never my enemy, Jim. None of you were. Kelly had his battles with your father. Not with me, not with my sisters. Your brothers are another thing. They aren’t invited.” Her voice grew husky. “I want you to be there. I like Kate’s changing attitude toward you. It’s a start in healing this wound that festers among us. I know you’ll probably feel uncomfortable, but by showing up, it’s a start, even if only symbolically, don’t you think? A positive one?”

  In that moment, Jim wished they were anywhere but out in a public place. The tears in Rachel’s eyes made them shine and sparkle like dark emeralds. He wanted to whisper her name, slide his hands through that thick mass of hair, angle her head just a little and kiss her until she melted into his being, into his heart. Despite her background, Rachel was so fresh, so alive, so brave about being herself and sharing her feelings, that it allowed him the same privilege within himself.

  He wanted to take her hand and hold it, but he couldn’t. He saw the locals watching them like proverbial hawks now. Jim didn’t wish gossip upon Rachel or any of the Donovan sisters. God knew, they had suffered enough of it through the years.

  One corner of his mouth tugged upward. “I’ll be there,” he promised her huskily.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “WHERE you goin’ all duded up?” Bo Cunningham drawled as he leaned languidly against the open door to Jim’s bedroom.

  Jim glanced over at his brother. Bo was tall and lean, much like their father. His dark good looks had always brought him a lot of attention from women. In high school, Bo had been keenly competitive with Jim. Whatever Jim undertook, Bo did too. The rivalry hadn’t stopped and there was always tension, like a razor, between them.

  “Going to a wedding,” he said.

  He knotted his tie and snugged it into place against his throat. In all his years of traveling around the U.S. as a Hotshot, he’d never had much call for wearing a suit. But after having lunch with Rachel, he’d gone to Flagstaff and bought one. Jim had known that when his two brothers saw him in a suit, they’d be sure to make fun of him. Uniform of the day around the Bar C was jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and a cowboy hat. He would wear his dark brown Stetson to the wedding, however. The color of his hat would nearly match the raw umber tone of his suit. A new white shirt and dark green tie completed his ensemble.

  Bo’s full lips curl
ed a little. “I usually know of most weddin’s takin’ place around here. Only one I know of today is the Donovan sisters.”

  Inwardly, Jim tried to steel himself against the inevitable. “That’s the one,” he murmured, picking up his brush and moving it one last time across his short, dark hair. It was nearly 1:00 p.m. and the wedding was scheduled for 2:00. He had to hurry.

  “You workin’ at bein’ a traitor to this family?”

  Bo’s chilling question made him freeze. Slowly turning, he saw that his brother was no longer leaning against his bedroom door, but standing tensely. The stormy look on his face was what Jim expected.

  Picking up his hat, Jim stepped toward him. “Save your garbage for somebody who believes it, Bo.” Then he moved past him and down the hall. Since Jim had come home, Bo had acted like a little bantam rooster, crowing and strutting because their father was planning in leaving Bo and Chet the ranch—and not Jim. Frank Cunningham had disowned his youngest son the day he’d left home years before. As Jim walked into the main living area, he realized he’d never regretted that decision. What he did regret was Bo trying at every turn to get their father to throw him off the property now.

  As Jim settled his hat on his head, he saw his father positioned near the heavy cedar door that he had to walk through to get to his pickup. The look on his father’s face wasn’t pleasant, and Jim realized that Bo, an inveterate gossip, had already told him everything.

  “Where you goin’, son?”

  Jim halted in front of his father’s wheelchair. As he studied his father’s eyes, he realized the old man was angry and upset, but not out of control. He must have remembered his meds today. For that, Jim breathed an inner sigh of relief.

  “I’m going to a wedding,” he said quietly. “Kate and Jessica Donovan are getting married. It’s a double wedding.”

  His father’s brows dipped ominously. “Who invited you?”

  “Kate did.” Jim felt his gut twist. He could see his father’s rage begin to mount, from the flash of light in his bloodshot eyes to the way he set his mouth into that thin, hard line.

  “You could’ve turned down the invitation.”

  “I didn’t want to.” Jim felt his adrenaline start to pump. He couldn’t help feeling threatened and scared—sort of like the little boy who used to cower in front of his larger-than-life father. When Frank Cunningham went around shouting and yelling, his booming voice sounded like thunder itself. Jim knew that by coming back to the ranch he would go through a lot of the conditioned patterns he had when he was a child and that he had to work through and dissolve them. He was a man now, not a little boy. He struggled to remain mature in his reactions with his father and not melt into a quivering mass of fear like he had when he was young.

  “You had a choice,” Frank growled.

  “Yes.” Jim sighed. “I did.”

  “You’re doin’ this on purpose. Bo said you were.”

  Jim looked to his right. He saw Bo amble slowly out of the hallway, a gleeful look in his eyes. His brother wanted this confrontation. Bo took every opportunity to make things tense between Jim and his father in hopes that Jim would be banned forever from the ranch and their lives. Jim knew Bo was worried that Frank would change his will and give Jim his share of the ranch. The joke was Jim would never take it. Not on the terms that Frank would extract from him. No, he wouldn’t play those dark family games anymore. Girding himself against his father’s well-known temper, Jim looked down into his angry eyes.

  “What I do, Father, is my business. I’m not going to this wedding to hurt you in any way. But if that’s what they want you to believe, and you want to believe it, then I can’t change your mind.”

  “They’re Donovans!” Frank roared as he gripped the arms of his wheelchair, his knuckles turning white. His breathing became harsh and swift. “Damn you, Jim! You just don’t get it, do you, boy? They’re our enemies!”

  Jim’s eyes narrowed. “No, they’re not our enemies! You and I have had this argument before. I’m not going to have it again. They’re decent people. I’m not treating them any differently than I’d treat you or a stranger on the street.”

  “Damn you to hell,” Frank snarled, suddenly leaning back and glaring up at him. “If I wasn’t imprisoned in this damned chair, I’d take a strap to you! I’d stop you from going over there!”

  “Come on, Pa,” Bo coaxed, sauntering over and patting him sympathetically on the shoulder. “Jim’s a turncoat. He’s showin’ his true colors, that’s all. Come on, lemme take you to town. We’ll go over to the bar and have a drink of whiskey and drown our troubles together over this.”

  Glaring at Bo, Jim snapped, “He’s diabetic! You know he can’t drink liquor.”

  Bo grinned smugly. “You’re forcing him to drink. It’s not my fault.”

  Breathing hard, Jim looked down at his father, a pleading expression in his eyes. Before Frank became diabetic, he’d been a hard drinker. Jim was sure he was an alcoholic, but he never said so. Now Jim centered his anger on Bo. His brother knew a drink would make his father’s blood sugar leap off the scale, that it could damage him in many ways and potentially shorten his life. Jim knew that Bo hated his father, but he never showed it, never confronted him on anything. Instead, Bo used passive-aggressive ways of getting what he wanted. This wasn’t the first time his brother had poured Frank a drink or two. And Bo didn’t really care what it did to his father’s health. His only interest was getting control of the ranch once Frank died.

  Even his father knew alcohol wasn’t good for his condition. But Jim wasn’t about to launch into the reasons why he shouldn’t drink. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he rasped, “You’re grown men. You’re responsible for whatever you decide to do.”

  THE WEDDING WAS TAKING place at the main ranch house. The sky was sunny and a deep, almost startling blue. As Jim drove up and parked his pickup on the graveled driveway, he counted more than thirty other vehicles. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was 2:10 p.m. He was late, dammit. With his stomach still in knots from his confrontation with his father, he gathered up the wedding gifts and hurried to the porch of the ranch house. There were garlands of evergreen with pine cones, scattered with silver, red and gold glitter, framing the door, showing Jim that the place had been decorated with a woman’s touch.

  Gently opening the door, he saw Jessica and Kate standing with their respective mates near the huge red-pink-and-white flagstone fireplace. Rachel was there, too. Reverend Thomas O’Malley was presiding and sonorously reading from his text. Walking as quietly as he could, Jim felt the stares of a number of people in the gathered group as he placed the wrapped gifts on a table at the back of the huge room.

  Taking off his hat, he remained at the rear of the crowd that had formed a U around the two beautiful brides and their obviously nervous grooms. Looking up, he saw similar pine boughs and cones hung across each of the thick timbers that supported the ceiling of the main room. The place was light and pretty compared to the darkness of his father’s home. Light and dark. Jim shut his eyes for a moment and tried to get a hold on his tangled, jumbled emotions.

  When he opened his eyes, he moved a few feet to the left to get a better look at the wedding party. His heart opened up fiercely as he felt the draw of Rachel’s natural beauty.

  Both brides wore white. Kate had on a long, traditional wedding gown of what looked to Jim like satin, and a gossamer veil on her hair. Tiny pearl buttons decorated each of her wrists and the scoop neck of her dress. Kate had never looked prettier, with her face flushed, her eyes sparkling, her entire attention focused on Sam McGuire, who stood tall and dark at her side. In their expressions, Jim could see their love for one another, and it eased some of his own internal pain.

  Jessica wore a tailored white wool suit, decorated with a corsage of several orchids. In her hair was a ringlet of orchids woven with greenery, making her look like a fairy. Jim smiled a little. Jessica had always reminded him of some ethereal being, someone not quite of this
earth, but made more from the stuff of heaven. He eyed Dan Black, dressed in a dark blue suit and tie, standing close beside his wife-to-be. Jim noticed the fierce love in Black’s eyes for Jessica. And he saw tears running down Jessica’s cheeks as she began to repeat her vows to Dan.

  The incredible love between the two couples soothed whatever demons were left in him. Jim listened to Kate’s voice quaver as she spoke the words to Sam. McGuire, whose face usually was rock hard and expressionless, was surprisingly readable. The look of tenderness, of open, adoring love for Kate, was there to be seen by everyone at the gathering. Jim’s heart ached. He wished he would someday feel that way about a woman. And then his gaze settled on Rachel.

  The ache in his heart softened, then went away as he hungrily gazed at her. He felt like a thief, stealing glances at a woman he had no right to even look at twice. How she looked today was a far cry from how she’d looked out at the accident site. She was radiant in a pale pink, long-sleeved dress that brushed her thin ankles. A circlet of orchids similar to Jessica’s rested in her dark, thick hair, which had been arranged in a pretty French braid, and she carried a small bouquet of orchids and greenery in her hands. She wore no makeup, which Jim applauded. Rachel didn’t need any, he thought, struck once again by her exquisite beauty.

  Her lips were softly parted. Tears shone in two paths across her high cheekbones as the men now began to speak their vows to Kate and Jessica. Everything about Rachel was soft and vulnerable, Jim realized. She didn’t try to hide behind a wall like Kate did. She was open, like Jessica. But even more so, in a way Jim couldn’t yet define. And then something electric and magical happened. Rachel, as if sensing his presence, his gaze burning upon her, lifted her head a little and turned to look toward him. Their eyes met.

  In that split second, Jim felt as if a lightning bolt had slammed through him. Rachel’s forest-green eyes were velvet and glistening with tears. He saw the sweet curve of her full lips move upward in silent welcome. Suddenly awkward, Jim felt heat crawling up his neck and into his face. Barely nodding in her direction, he tried to return her smile. He saw relief in her face, too. Relief that he’d come? Was it personal or symbolic of the fragile union being forged between their families? he wondered. Jim wished that it was personal. He felt shaken inside as Rachel returned her attention to her sisters, but he felt good, too.