Leslie LaFoy

by Jacksons Way

  “A very personal question, Mr. Vanderhagen,” Lindsay went on. “If you're uncomfortable with it, please don't feel as though you have to answer it. Do you have any idea of whether or not my father knew that Henry and Agatha where Richard's children and not his?”

  Vanderhagen sighed, pursed his lips for a moment, and then replied, “Richard confided in me that your father did eventually discover the truth. It apparently led to a significant confrontation between your father and your mother. Your … ahem, creation … was a consequence of emotions that got out of control. The business relationship between Richard and your father continued—albeit extremely strained—until William left for Texas. But as you might surmise, the personal one ended at the point when William discovered that he'd been cuckolded.”

  “Thank you. It explains a great deal about my family that I've always wondered about.”

  And, Jackson silently added, it explained why Billy had left for Texas and never looked back. How could he have been sure Lindsay was any more his child than Henry and Agatha were? Jesus. Now he understood why Billy had left the MacPhaull Company to him. It was vengeance, pure and simple. It all made perfect sense. Sick, twisted sense.

  “When am I free to begin drawing from my trust?” he heard Lindsay ask.

  “You've had access since the first day Richard and I established it. While, as usual, there are a number of bank officials officially serving as your board of trustees, your single vote outweighs theirs combined. The books are in a safety deposit box. I'll get them and bring them to you whenever you want to have them. Today, if you'd like.”

  “Tomorrow or the day after will be soon enough, Mr. Vanderhagen.” She turned in her chair to look up at Jack. Her eyes were bright with happiness as she asked, “Do you have any further questions?”

  Could you be this happy loving me? “Not at the moment,” he managed to say, fighting the urge to take her into his arms and demand that she try.

  “Mr. Stennett?” the lawyer said. He waited until Jack met his gaze before continuing. “Given the circumstances, I can understand how you might wish to secure the services of another attorney, but I want you to know that I am willing to supervise the transfer of title for those properties sold at tomorrow's auction. Ben, despite whatever feelings you may have about him, should be the one on hand to provide the new owners with any relevant and necessary bookkeeping information.”

  “Doesn't matter to me which lawyer or which bookkeeper handles the details,” Jack declared, turning on his heel and heading for the door. “All I'm interested in at this point is getting the money I need and going home. The quicker and cleaner, the better.”

  It's too damn late to save my heart.

  Could you be this happy loving me?

  The words reverberated through his mind and sent waves of realization crashing through his body. He couldn't breathe and his knees were suddenly so weak that he grabbed the doorjamb to keep himself upright. Desperate, he dragged air into his lungs and willed steel back into his legs. But there was nothing he could do to stem the torrent of his thoughts.

  He loved Lindsay. He'd spent the last couple of weeks trying to solve a business puzzle, never realizing that with every minute of every day and night he was falling in love with her. Despite his determination, despite knowing better, despite his certain, rational declarations otherwise, he'd fallen in love with her.

  Jesus. Sweet Jesus. He'd asked her to go to Texas with him so that he could help her find a husband. He was the biggest, blindest idiot God had ever turned loose.

  Jackson scraped a trembling hand over his face and tried to marshal his thoughts. What was he going to do? If he told her he loved her now … if he asked her to marry him now … now that she was wealthy beyond even the wildest dreams… how could she believe him? Why would she think he was any different from all the others who saw her only for what she could give them? If only he'd had the sense to understand yesterday. Or the day before.

  “Jack?”

  He blinked and looked down into Lindsay's bright blue eyes. As he watched, the brightness faded, dulled by the shadows of troubled questions. She'd look at him just like that if he was stupid enough to tell her he loved her. She'd always look at him like that. She'd always wonder whether his love had been bought with MacPhaull Company money.

  Tears swelled his throat, choking off words and all conscious thought. Instinct surged into the void and he obeyed, desperate to escape it all, desperate to find a hole in which to hide, to find a way to pretend this hadn't happened. He heard her call his name as he walked away, heard the confusion in her voice. He couldn't help her. Not now. Not anymore. He hurt too hard and too deep to help anyone. He couldn't see past it. If he was lucky just once in his life, the pain would kill him.

  God, he hated Billy Weathers. He'd been set up, thrown into the lion's den. A naive lamb who only thought he knew something about lying and cheating and who thought honesty and right could triumph over greed and treachery. Billy had known exactly what he was sending him into. He'd been set up and made a fool of. And Lindsay had had a front row seat for the whole show. He'd never forgive Billy for that humiliation.

  LINDSAY, HER HEART RACING,watched Jack vault down the front steps of Vanderhagen's office and stride down the walkway. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. She'd never seen that look in his eyes before. Anger and hurt and something she thought might be fear. Panicking, she darted after him, pushing her way through the throng of pedestrians to reach him. Breathless, she caught his arm and pulled him to a stop as she asked, “Jack, what's wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he mumbled, avoiding her eyes. “Everything's worked out to be righter than rain, hasn't it?”

  “Are you angry because you were wrong about Richard?”

  “Yeah,” he drawled sardonically, “I'm not nearly as noble as I've pretended to be. Having to apologize—even to a dead man—rubs me wrong.”

  “Actually, you were right, Jack,” she offered. “He was stealing the company assets. Just not for the reason you thought.”

  “All hail Saint Richard,” he said flatly, pulling away from her grasp and starting away again.

  “Jack!” she cried, planting herself squarely in his path. “Why are you being so hateful? Richard left me a fortune; a fortune out of which I can easily write you a bank draft to cover all the debts on the land my father left you in Texas.”

  Write him a bank draft to cover the debts her daddy had left him? Jesus. She was a little rich girl turned into a even richer woman. He'd fulfilled his purpose, serving as her daily distraction for as long as it took for Richard Patterson to get on with dying. Now it was done and she could pay Jack Stennett and pack him off to Texas where he belonged. Neat and tidy. Never to be heard from again. His blood shot white-hot through his veins.

  He leaned down and Lindsay's heart raced.

  “You write me a draft,” he said, his voice hard and low, “and I'll tear it to goddamn shreds. Do you understand me?”

  She blinked in shock and he stepped around her, saying, “Don't wait supper for me. I'm not going to be there.”

  Again she blocked his path. “Jack,” she gasped, lightheaded from the exertion and the constraints of her corset. “I won't let you walk off angry. What's wrong? Why are you so furious?”

  He glowered and then tried to go around and past her. Lindsay quickly stepped into his way. “Jack, please.”

  “All right. You want a load of buckshot, Lindsay, I'll give you one,” he ground out, his eyes blazing. “I've had enough and I want to be done with it. I want to go home, climb back into a saddle, ride out over the hills, and sit and look at the land and my cattle. I want to be back where things are simple and straightforward, where people are just what they appear to be, and a man doesn't have to guess what they want and what they're willing to do to get it.

  “I'm tired of thinking; tired of trying to find my way in a place I don't know and among people I will never understand. I'm tired of feeling responsible and trying to figure
out what's the right thing to do. No one else worries about what's right. Why the hell should I?”

  “That's not true, Jack,” she whispered.

  “Oh, yeah?” he countered instantly. “Patterson fathered three children and didn't acknowledge them as his until he was dead and six feet under. He's stolen another man's property and everyone thinks it's all right because in the end he's given it to the man's daughter in the name of birthright and decency. He's flung his own children a fistful of money for them to play with for a while, but he couldn't be bothered to raise them up into decent and honorable human beings.”

  He gestured toward the office door behind them. “And Otis Vanderhagen has gone along with the whole scheme because it was the right thing to do for the company? The right thing to do for Lindsay MacPhaull?” Jackson snorted. “Right didn't have a goddamn thing to do with it and you know it. Vanderhagen went along with it because he got paid for his services and because once he was in, there was no way Patterson could get rid of him. Vanderhagen knew enough to blackmail Patterson to hell and back six times. Vanderhagen was guaranteed a slice out of every pie just because he'd been smart enough to jab his fingers into the first one.

  “And let's not forget Ben, your lying little two-faced bookkeeper. No, that isn't right,” Jackson quickly corrected. “Ben was right up-front in telling me that everything he'd confide about the business would be with your best interests in mind. I was just stupid enough to believe that Ben was saying he'd be honest in what he did say. I've been the fool and Ben isn't to blame for that.”

  “Oh, Jack,” she cried, knowing he was wrong about himself and reaching out to touch him.

  “Christ Almighty,” he swore, pushing her hand away. “No wonder Billy took off for Texas and didn't look back. I can't wait to do the same. The day after the auction's done, I'm going to climb aboard the first goddamn ship I can find leaving the harbor and sailing south. And being seasick doesn't matter one bit because I intend to be so damn drunk I won't notice whether I'm on land or sea or hanging by my belt loops from a tree limb forty feet in the air.”

  “Will you listen to me?” she asked, wanting to tell him how much she needed him to help her find her way through the new maze that had sprung up around her.

  “No,” he said hotly. “I'm not ever going to come back to this place and I'm not ever going to have to deal with these people again, even if I live to be a hundred and fifty.

  Otis Vanderhagen can strip a thousand companies blind and it isn't going to be of any concern to me. And Ben can talk out both sides of his mouth until his tongue actually forks and it isn't going to make any difference to my world. Henry and Agatha can bankrupt themselves and each other's sanity and it isn't my problem.

  “I couldn't save you people from yourselves even if I tried. And you know what, Lindsay? I don't have to try. I was handed a mess to clean up by virtue of being the only man Billy Weathers knew who was stupid enough to walk into it thinking he could. Well, I've come to my senses and I'm getting the hell out. Whatever mess there's left to clean up can just keep on being a mess. Either that or you can clean it up. Dealing with chaos and disaster is your greatest strength. You sure don't need me to do it for you. You don't need me for one goddamn thing.”

  “That's not true!” she cried. “Not true at all!”

  “Maybe I won't wait for the day after the auction,” he went on, ignoring her. “Maybe I'll sail out the same day. Why waste time? There's no reason to stay. And come to think of it, there isn't any reason to wait until I climb aboard any damn ship to get roaring drunk, either.

  “And I'll stay drunk until I have to stagger to the auction tomorrow morning and get the money I need to keep the ranch intact.” He started to turn away, then stopped and turned back to add, “And, by God, I'm not going to take one cent more than what I need. I don't care what the hell happens to the rest of the MacPhaull Company holdings. Primrose and Emile can stuff them and bake them, for all I care.”

  Lindsay stood in stunned silence as he turned and strode away. He hated her more than she had ever known was humanly possible. Fool that she was, it didn't make any difference. She loved him with all her heart, all her soul. And always would.

  Slowly, she turned and walked up the street, heading back toward MacPhaull House, vaguely aware that there was a crowd, that it parted to permit her passage through, and that she had once again made herself the subject of scandalized public comment. This time, though, she was simply too battered to even care what anyone thought, what anyone said.

  JACK WATCHED THE SUNRISE through the amber whiskey in his glass. Tossing it down his throat, he surveyed the main room of Mrs. Theorosa's house. He'd been falling in love with Lindsay when they'd come here that afternoon. He'd watched her dust and thought how sweetly domestic and contented she seemed. He'd wanted to stay, to make love to her in the room with the bright purple walls and the brilliant pansies. But he'd been dutiful and responsible and they'd gone back to town like they were expected to. If only he'd known then that it would be the only chance they would ever have to be together in this house that Lindsay liked so much.

  If only he'd known. There wasn't enough whiskey in New York to ease the ache deep inside him. If only things had turned out differently. If only Patterson had left her impoverished. But he hadn't and Lindsay was never going to come to Texas and let Jackson Lee Stennett court her. Jack smiled ruefully. No other man would have been allowed within a mile of her. He'd have kept her for himself.

  The money didn't really make any difference, though, he admitted. Rich or poor, Lindsay was the kind of woman who wouldn't walk away from obligations and responsibilities. There was no changing her. She was bound to Henry and Agatha as surely as if someone had tied a single rope around all their ankles. There was no point in asking her to cut the ties, because her conscience wouldn't let her.

  If only Lindsay didn't need so badly to be needed. If only he could present her with some need of his own that would draw her to him and bind them together. But the only need was his own to be with her, to love her, to make a family with her and grow old with her at his side. It wasn't enough to outweigh all that kept her here and he knew it.

  And he couldn't stay here with her. He regretted with all his heart the words he'd flung at her on the sidewalk that afternoon; they'd hurt her. But that didn't change the fact that they'd been the truest ones he'd ever spoken. He hated this place, hated the way it made a man come at the world and live his life. He didn't belong here, didn't want to become like Otis Vanderhagen, Richard Patterson, and Benjamin Tipton. And he sure as hell didn't want to become yet another person depending on Lindsay for his sustenance. He loved her too much to be a burden for her.

  No, he couldn't stay here. He wanted his simple life. He wanted to share that with Lindsay. He wanted the impossible.

  He wanted roses to bloom in Texas.

  He wanted Lindsay's love to twine around his memories of Maria Arabella and all the other losses of his life. He wanted to be whole, happy, at peace with himself and with his past.

  Through his tears, Jackson looked out the front window and watched the sun peek over the tops of the distant trees. It was time to head back into the city and do what had to be done. God give him the strength he'd need to face Lindsay and then walk away without proving—yet again— just how big a fool he was.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  LINDSAY HELD HER BREATH, listening to the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. They paused at the door of the adjoining room and then came again after the door opened and closed. Jack had returned. She stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror, searching for some glimmer of the fortitude she needed to face him. All she saw were haunted eyes and and an aching heart. Jack was wrong about her, she realized. Yes, she liked the challenge of triumphing over risk, but there were some games whose stakes were so high that even she didn't dare play. The chances of losing were just too great, too certain. Telling him that she loved him was one of them.

  She couldn't
hide from him, though. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't. There were business matters they had to discuss. It had always been business with Jack. He'd told her time and time again that that was all there was between them. That and a purely physical desire. She'd been the one who'd violated the rules he'd laid down. She'd agreed to abide by them and then ignored it all and let her- self fall in love. Her heartache wasn't Jack's fault. It was hers and only hers.

  “Business, Linds,” she whispered, forcing a smile. “It's business, not personal. Remember that and you'll do just fine.”

  Rising from the bench, she smoothed her skirts and then stepped to the door. Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, she knocked, almost hoping he'd tell her to go away.

  “It's open unless you've locked it.”

  Lindsay smiled wryly. What did it say about her that she'd never even looked for the key? She turned the knob, pulled the door open, and then pushed back the tapestry. He stood beside the bed, a clean shirt in his hands, the one he'd removed lying on the floor at his feet. As always, her pulse raced at the sight of him and her heart yearned to be wrapped in his arms, to taste his lips and feel the wonder of his heartbeat against her breast. His gaze met hers for a fraction of a heartbeat before sliding away, and she wanted to cry for what she'd had and lost.

  “You're back,” she said tightly, tears tickling her throat. “I've been worried about you. Are you all right?”

  “Righter than rain,” he quipped, pulling on his clean shirt.

  “I've never understood that expression,” she admitted, noticing the open valise on the end of the bed. Her stomach turned to lead. “It doesn't mean anything.”

  “It means a lot of your life's a simple one,” he replied, his attention fixed on buttoning the shirt. “It's rain that keeps the grass green, the streams flowing, and water in the well. It's what keeps men and cattle alive. Nothing on earth is more important or more right than rain.”