by Lori Wilde
This was big. The final test of her determination to be who she truly was.
Already she was growing to love the sky as much as Durango did. It beckoned to her, whispered her name. Her heart thudded. She felt wonderful, but trembled inside.
“How many times have you skydived?” she asked.
“Relax, Angel. I’m a certified instructor.”
“You’re so good at any and everything out there,” she said.
“Keeps the demons at bay.”
“Is that why you do it?”
“You’re doing one hell of a job keeping up with me.” He grinned and ignored her question. Why was he such a thrill seeker. What pain did it salve? “I can’t stop thinking about last night. You were incredible.”
“Thank you.” She accepted his compliment and didn’t once feel the urge to sneeze.
“We’re over the drop zone,” the pilot called over his shoulder to them.
“This is it.”
As one, they got to their feet and edged toward the door. Durango opened the hatch. Invigoratingly cold air blasted into the cabin. Abby peered out, saw puffy white clouds rolling by, inviting them to jump.
“Are you ready to freefall, Angel? Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
“Ready!” she sang out, her blood rushing, swelling, pounding headlong through her veins.
The pilot cut the engine. The silence was almost deafening as they glided along. Only the sound of their breathing filled the small plane.
Together, they climbed out onto the strut and held on tight in the eighty-mile-per-hour wind. Her pulse was racing as fast as it had the night before when she and Durango had made crazy, vortex love.
Memories of that experience danced in her head, mingled with the adrenaline spiking through her stomach. She thought of how Durango had shown her just how much she meant to him.
“Let go,” he whispered into her ear.
Abby squeezed her eyes closed. She trusted him the way she’d been unable to trust him ten years ago.
She turned loose.
And they were freefalling.
Tumbling, tripping, hurtling toward the ground at an incredible speed. The rush was intensely wonderful. The earth sucked them down.
She forced her eyes open and smiled into Durango’s face. They were moving so fast his cheeks were vibrating in the wind. She figured hers were too.
Down, down, down they fell.
Lingering fears swelled. She wasn’t alone, she reminded herself. Durango was harnessed to her. In tandem. Two as one, two as one, two as one.
The jump went by blindingly fast.
At four thousand feet above the ground, Durango pulled the rip cord. The bright orange parachute shot out behind them, billowing into a brilliant canopy of vibrant triumphant.
Their descent slowed, everything changed.
Gone was the mad rush of sensation and in its place was utter tranquility.
They floated, suspended, drifting on air. Other than the flapping of the parachute in the wind, there was only silence.
A deep, thoughtful silence that they shared.
Down, down, down they drifted, while Abby’s spirit soared at the possibilities of the future. She could be anything she wanted to be. Go anywhere she wanted to go. She was no longer defined by the demands and expectations of other people.
She’d done it. She’d proved herself, found her inner passion. She was no longer go-with-the-flow Abby, hiding her true self from herself. She’d learned to mix her agreeable disposition with a newfound talent for emotional strength and endurance.
She no longer feared loss or separation from her home and her community. She had discovered that maybe she could make a difference in her own life, that it paid to get energized, involved. She was more powerful than she had ever dreamed.
Freefalling into a whole wide world far beyond her father’s circle of influence. A world not controlled by emotion like Cassandra’s, but instead, defined by it.
They dropped together with precision accuracy and landed softly on the ground. It would have been a perfect touchdown except for one very distracting detail.
The moment their feet hit the earth, they were mobbed by media people spilling out of news vans, dragging camera crews behind them, all demanding details about the front-page picture in the sleaziest tabloid magazine ever to see ink.
The Confidential Inquisitor.
A picture that depicted gubernatorial candidate Judge Archer’s daughter having sex in a rope swing dangling from Satan’s Bridge with the sexiest bad-boy black-sheep rake this side of Phoenix.
12
“NO COMMENT,” Durango repeatedly told reporters as he grimly hustled Abby to his Jeep.
The euphoria he’d experienced over their perfect tandem jump disintegrated in the face of reality. The explicit details of their envelope-pushing affair had morphed into a gossip-rag pictorial.
He cringed.
Judge Archer might end up shamed over his daughter’s sizzling scandal, but it was Abby who was really going to suffer the consequences.
And it was all his fault. Durango felt lower than snail slime.
He had to get Abby out of here, had to protect her from the prying eyes of curiosity seekers. He slammed the Jeep in gear, almost crunching the toes of one particularly aggressive newsman who wouldn’t get out of his way.
Abby was pale and visibly shaken. Someone had shoved the front page of the paper into her hand. She was still holding it, staring numbly down at the damning photograph.
“Give me that.” Durango jerked the vile gossip rag from her hand and pitched it into the back seat.
“Who…who…” She shook her head and swallowed back the tears he heard stuck in her throat. “Who took these pictures?”
“The paparazzi guy?”
“But he wasn’t a paparazzi guy,” Abby said. “He was working for my father. Daddy might have me followed so he could find out what I was up to, but he would make damned sure none of it ever got into the papers.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, his gut tearing him into two pieces.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yes it is. If I hadn’t insisted on pushing you into way-out sex, none of this would have happened.”
Guilt weighed heavily on his conscience. Once he had started this seduction, he’d realized how much he still loved her and his goal had become all about helping Abby find herself.
But in the beginning, his motives had been less than honorable. He had wanted revenge against her father, but he didn’t want her misinterpreting the chain of events. He had to find a way to explain himself. Unfortunately, this stupid gossip scandal muddied the waters.
“Hey,” she protested. “No finger-pointing. This was as much my idea as yours.” She groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “Daddy is going to be livid.”
The Jeep’s radio was tuned on low to the news talk station. Neither of them was paying the broadcast any attention until the announcer said, “This hour we’re dissecting today’s amusing, embarrassing political sex scandal involving gubernatorial candidate Judge Wayne Archer’s daughter.”
“Dammit,” Durango said, and made a move to snap off the radio.
“No wait,” Abby said and raised a hand. “I need to hear how bad this is.”
“Are you sure?”
She clenched her jaw and nodded.
“Joining us today is feature writer and political columnist from Arizona magazine, Eric Provost. Welcome, Eric, and thanks for joining us.”
“Thanks for having me, Dave,” Eric replied.
Abby frowned. “Eric Provost? Isn’t he the guy who did the story on your Outward Bound program?”
Durango nodded. “Listen Abby, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
“Shh.” She waved a hand, her ears straining to hear what Eric had to say.
Reluctantly Durango turned up the volume.
“So Eric, what do you think of this morning’s front page of the Confidential
Inquisitor?”
“Dave, I think it’s hysterical. Here’s Judge You’re-responsible-for-the-actions-of-your-children Archer, who’s running on a get-tough platform on juvenile crime, eating crow because his daughter has been caught on camera doing some pretty lewd and lascivious acts in public, not to mention defiling one of Sedona’s natural treasures.”
“Great going, Eric,” Durango muttered. “Now the environmentalists will be up in arms, too.”
Abby had her fingers knotted in her lap and he bet she was trying hard not to cry.
His masculine urge to protect her at all costs swept over him. He reached for the off button. “This is upsetting you. It’s outta here.”
“No,” she snapped. “I have to know what Daddy is up against. I have to know exactly how bad this is going to get.”
Durango blew out a breath. He wanted to offer her comfort, but she didn’t seem to be in the mood to let him. Besides, he was tainted. He still hadn’t unburdened his guilt to her, and now he didn’t know how he was ever going to do it. Anything he said at this point would end up looking like too little, too late.
It was too little, too late.
“Do you know what I find most fittingly ironic about this whole situation?” Eric Provost asked the talk-show host.
“What’s that, Eric?”
“The guy in the photograph with Abby Archer is a man by the name of Durango Creed. Ten years ago Judge Archer jailed him on a minor teenage infraction and Durango’s relationship with his entire family was irretrievably broken over the incident.”
“Interesting sidebar,” Dave, the talk-show host, commented.
Slowly Abby turned her head toward Durango.
“Hey, Durango, buddy, if you’re listening out there, way to get revenge for the week of your life Judge Archer wasted in that Phoenix county jail.” Eric’s voice oozed from the radio as deadly as toxic sludge. “Soiling the judge’s daughter was a stroke of brilliance. Hit him right where it hurts, in his own backyard. Show the guy up for the hypocrite he is.”
“Ouch!” The announcer chuckled. “You know that’s gotta hurt.”
“Play with fire, Dave, and you’re gonna get burned.”
“How do you think this will affect the judge’s bid for office?” Dave asked.
“You can bet your ballot his opponent Mack Woodruff, just got a bump up in his approval rating and hey, as far as I’m concerned, so did Durango Creed. Only time will tell the larger impact on the judge’s career.”
“Durango?” Abby’s voice was reedy, accusatory. “Is this why you wanted to turn off the radio? You were afraid your friend was going to spill your secret, like he just did.”
He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t bear to see the hurt in her eyes and know he’d been the one to put it there. “Abby, I…” he started, but couldn’t finish.
“Did you just have sex with me to get revenge against my father.” The anguish in her voice was killing him.
“It’s not like that.”
“What is it like?”
He bit down on the inside of his cheek.
“Look at me, Durango.”
He wasn’t a coward. He had no choice but to face up to what he’d done and pray she could find it in her heart to forgive him. He met her eyes. Hurt and disbelief shimmered as unshed tears in those wide hazel eyes.
“It’s true, isn’t it. You did sleep with me to get revenge against my father!”
“In the beginning it might have started out that way,” he admitted. “But watching you open up to your passion, seeing you come into your own, completely changed my motives. You’ve got to believe me, Abby. I never meant to cause you this kind of grief.”
“Oh save it. I don’t want to hear anymore.”
“Abby,” he said quietly, “I deserve every bit of your anger, but this you’ve got to know deep in your heart. I care about you.”
“This is a real crappy way of showing it, Durango, ruining my dad’s career. Stop the Jeep. I want to get out.”
“Angel, be reasonable. I can’t leave you here in the middle of nowhere.”
“I’m through being reasonable, in case you haven’t noticed. You’re the one who showed me how. And don’t worry about abandoning me at the roadside—the media frenzy trailing after us should be along soon, I’m sure they will be more than happy to give me a ride for my side of the story. Oh, and for the record, I don’t ever want to see you again.”
HEART LURCHING into her breastbone, legs quivering, Abby leaped out of the Jeep the minute Durango pulled over.
“Abby,” Durango pleaded. “Please, you’ve got to hear me out.”
Her hands shook with fury as she grabbed the gossip magazine from the back seat and shook it under his nose. “Exactly how much did you get paid to publicly humiliate me?”
She’d known all along he harbored a grudge against her dad, against the good people of Silverton Heights. He’d made no bones about that fact. Really, she shouldn’t be surprised or hurt, but sadly she was.
Never, in a million aeons, would she have suspected he could be so coldly calculating as to hire some low-life scum to follow them and photograph them in the throes of an intimate moment.
And to think she’d been spinning what if fantasies about their future. That she’d planned on moving to Sedona for him.
What a fool she’d been.
Durango got out of the Jeep, slammed the door hard behind him. He snatched the gossip rag from her hands and furiously started shredding it to pieces.
“I—” shred “—did—” shred “—not—” shred “—hire anyone to follow and photograph us.” He balled up the tattered pieces and flung the confetti into the Jeep.
The sun beat down. The utter silence swirling from the red rock mesas surrounding them was deafening.
“And if you believe that about me,” he continued, “there’s no hope for us at all.”
Abby glared at him, hard and long.
Durango flinched but did not shrink back under the force of her ire.
“You really don’t want to hear what I have to say right now,” she said. “I advise you to get into your Jeep and drive away before I say something I’ll regret to my dying day.”
“Go ahead.” He hardened his jaw. “Let me have it. I deserve the best you can dish out.”
Instead, Abby turned on her heel and started walking away from him.
“Running away isn’t the answer,” Durango called after her. “Stay and fight this out with me. I know you’ve learned it’s better to embrace conflict than hide from it.”
She did not reply, could not reply because if she did she feared she would burst into tears, and she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
“Abby, please.” He jogged to catch up.
She looked down, instead of over at him, and noticed her shoes were kicking up soft billows of red sand as she walked.
He gently took her by the elbow, forced her to stop walking and spun her around to face him. “You’ve got to let me make this up to you.”
She jerked her elbow away, the same elbow that still sported the bandage he’d so tenderly applied only a couple of days before, and sank her hands on her hips.
“Some things can’t be forgiven, Durango. Surely you know that,” she said darkly.
“What do you mean?” His eyes darted over her face.
She’d never seen him nervous, but he looked damned scared.
“You’ve never been able to fully forgive me or my dad or even your own father for what happened when you were eighteen. You were wronged, yes. You were still grieving your mother, we all understand that. But you’ve got to let go of the past. You’ve been hiding out in Sedona, telling yourself you’re self-reliant and free, that you don’t need to follow the rules or fit in with society’s norms. You tempt fate. You pride yourself on boldly going where few men have gone before. But the truth is, you’re prideful, uncompromising and stubborn. But most of all, you’re chicken.”
“Ch
icken?”
“Face it, you’re a fraud. You’re as scared of being accepted by everyone else as I was afraid of exploring my passionate side.”
“Abby.” He reached out a hand to her. His voice cracked.
While the sight of her big tough Durango on the verge of losing his composure wrenched at her, Abby stubbornly hardened her resolve against him.
“How can I fix this?” he asked, anguish twisting his handsome features. He looked sadder and wiser. Abby toughened her heart. She wasn’t going to forgive that easily.
“You’ve not only hurt me, but my father’s reputation might be ruined. I don’t think you can make up for that.”
Anger flared in his eyes, edging out his guilt and shame. “Okay fine. If you can’t or won’t forgive me, that’s your prerogative. But no matter how you feel about me, one thing remains true and there’s nothing you can do to change it.”
“And what’s that?” she snapped.
“I’m in love with you,” he said.
Then he turned, stalked back to the Jeep and drove away, leaving Abby standing there more confused and miserable than ever.
TRUE. Every single thing Abby had said about him was true.
He was prideful and uncompromising and stubborn. And he was too chicken to ask for forgiveness from the people he’d been convinced had wronged him and he’d been too chicken to bestow forgiveness on them in return.
He had to make amends. Whatever it took to repair Abby and the judge’s situation, he would do it. He was going to discover who took that picture.
Calling in an old favor, he got a pilot friend of his to fly him directly to Clearfork, California, the home offices of the Confidential Inquisitor. He wanted answers and he wanted them now and he wasn’t going to quit until he got them.
Once in California, Durango had to threaten the tabloid with a lawsuit, but eventually they told him that the photographer was a man by the name of Lance Peabody who made a living off catching politicians and their families with their pants down. Peabody, conveniently enough, lived in Phoenix.
When Durango rang Lance Peabody’s doorbell the next morning, he wasn’t surprised when the man who answered the door turned out to be the Van Halen T-shirt guy.
The minute he recognized him, Peabody tried to slam the door closed, but Durango was already shouldering his way inside. Taking on his best bad-boy countenance, he loomed threateningly over the much smaller guy.