by Jacksons Way
Suddenly she started, catching him by surprise. “Abigail!” she cried, frantically trying to push out of his embrace.
He eased his hold on her, but only enough so that he could look into her eyes again. Such fear, such concern. “Emile's taking care of her,” he assured her, glancing to the foot of the bed. Gently brushing a tendril of golden silk from her cheek, he softly added, “She's alive and she'll heal.”
“Lucy—”
“We found her,” Jack interrupted soothingly, drawing her close again. “She's a little scraped up, but she's fine, sweetheart. Primrose has gone to get the constables. They should be here any minute now.”
She sighed and relaxed, nestling into him and nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder. Just as suddenly as before, she started in his arms and tried to pull back. He held her tight this time, understanding the new cause of her panic. “He's dead, Lindsay,” he said softly, noting with satisfaction the shattered window glass. “Ben can't hurt you. Can't hurt anyone. It's over.”
“Oh God, Jack,” she said softly, her voice thick and edged with tears as the last of her strength ebbed away. She fell into him and, through her sobs, poured out the horror of her ordeal. “He wanted the money, Jack. All of it. He couldn't let me change the Will. He … he …”
“I know, sweetheart. I know. I figured it out at the end of the auction.”
She shuddered and drew a deep breath. “He wanted everyone to think I'd killed myself. I was so afraid. I couldn't do anything. He had Abigail and he kept saying he'd shoot her. All I could do was hope you'd know how much I needed you. That you'd come save me.”
Jack tightened his hold on her as she began to sob again. “I did know, Lindsay. I came as fast as I could.”
But God, he'd been so close to too late. So heartbreakingly close. He'd always remember the terror he'd felt as he'd come through the front door to hear Abigail Beechum scream. And even if he lived ten thousand years, he'd never forget the sheer horror of scrambling into the bedroom just in time to see Ben pull the cushion from under Lindsay's feet, to see her dangling, clawing at death. If he'd been one second later …
Tears filled his eyes as he realized how very close he'd come to losing her. He'd lost so many of those he loved; he couldn't bear the thought of losing her, too. She had become his life, the best and brightest light of his days and the sweetest comfort of his nights.
From downstairs drifted the sounds of booted footsteps and voices. Emile left Abigail's side and hurried to the door to summon everyone to what Jack knew the papers would refer to as “the scene of the crime.” All hell was going to break loose. He was going to have to let go of Lindsay so they could both answer the constables' questions. Dr. Bernard would have to be summoned and then Abigail and Lucy tended to and comforted. All of it was necessary and couldn't be avoided, but he regretted it just the same.
As footsteps thundered up the stairs, Jackson pressed a kiss into Lindsay's hair and then laid his cheek on the warm pillow of golden threads. “When everyone's gone, sweetheart,” he whispered, “we're going to talk.”
She nodded and hugged him tight. An image drifted through his mind. Tiny, pale blue morning glories surrounded and supported by a mass of pink roses. And he understood why it felt so right.
LINDSAY PAUSED AT THE DOOR of Abigail's room. Dr. Bernard sat beside her housekeeper's bed, holding her hand and murmuring reassurances. Abigail, her face covered by the wet compresses Primrose had prepared, clung tightly to the physician's hand and waited for the laudanum to work its miracle. Lindsay offered them a tired smile that neither of them saw and then pulled the door closed behind herself.
Upstairs, Jeb was caring for Lucy in much the same way. Emile, on the heels of the constables' arrival, had been dispatched to the courthouse to summon the young bookkeeper. Jeb had come careening through the front door of MacPhaull House breathless and ready to kill. He'd swept Lucy into his arms, kissed her soundly, and then promptly carried her upstairs to their room.
Lindsay leaned back against the wall outside Abigail's room and closed her eyes, remembering awakening amidst the debris and in Jack's embrace, the deep sense of being safe and cherished that had eased the terror from her mind. And then the world had intruded and she'd had to stand alone again. Jack had said they were going to talk when everyone left. She didn't want to talk, though; she wanted to be held, wanted to pretend that Jack was always going to be there when she couldn't be brave or stalwart or resolute.
But talk they must and Lindsay knew there was nothing to be gained in avoiding or delaying it. She needed to thank Jack properly, formally, for having thrown Ben out the window and pulling down the draperies, to thank him for nothing less than saving her life.
With a deep sigh, she pushed herself off the wall, squared her shoulders, and started toward the main part of the house in search of him. As she went, she recalled reading about some cultures in the world that believed saving a person's life indebted them to you, that required the saved soul to commit their lives to serving their savior until the debt could be repaid in kind. What would Jack do, she wondered, if she insisted on accompanying him to the ends of the earth, living for him until the end of time?
She had no ready answer and in that she saw a glimmer of hope. Was she brave enough to propose it? Did she have anything to lose in taking the chance? Only her pride and dignity. And what were they worth when compared to the possibility of spending forever without Jack?
JACK PACED HIS BEDROOM,trying to organize his thoughts and failing spectacularly. He eyed the whiskey decanter he'd brought up from the study and wondered whether he could keep his hands steady enough to pour himself a glass of courage. Deciding that it wasn't likely, he scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands and then pushed his fingers through his hair.
Jesus. He had rocks for brains. If only he'd realized that he loved her before either one of them had known she was a wealthy woman. If only he'd had the good sense to ask her to marry him the night he'd suggested that she go to Texas with him. And to think that he'd been so stupid as to suggest that he'd help her find a husband. That one had been a masterpiece of sheer blindness.
How the hell was he going to fix the mess he'd made of it all? How was he going to convince Lindsay that he loved her and that her money didn't have a damn thing to do with it?
“I've been looking all over for you.”
His heart slammed upward, lodging high in his throat.
He turned to find her standing on his side of the door connecting their rooms, the tapestry sliding back into place behind her. Her eyes were soft and warily searching his and he ached to hold her. I love you, Lindsay. He bit his tongue and tried to summon some sort of strategy more sensible than dashing forward and pulling her into his arms.
She took a shaky breath, moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue, and then said, “I assume the constables have gone away satisfied?”
“Horatio Wellsbacher, too,” he managed to get out around his heart. “How's Abigail?”
“Fine,” she answered, nodding. “Dr. Bernard's still with her. I think he's planning to stay the night at her side. And just between us, I don't think his attentions are purely professional.” She drew another unsteady breath. “You said we needed to talk and I agree. There are some things I need to say to you, Jack.”
“There are some things I need to say to you, too, Lindsay,” he blurted, the words rushing past his determination to be calm. “And please forgive the lack of gallantry, but I'm going first. I want to apologize for being an absolute horse's ass yesterday afternoon and an even bigger one this morning.”
“Apology accepted,” she said softly, her smile tremulous and her breathing suddenly ragged. “May I ask why you were so angry?”
God, let me do this right. I love her so much. “Do you want the long version or the short one?”
“I'm willing to take whatever you're willing give me, Jack.”
Calm and certainty washed over him. And he knew in that moment that
it didn't matter how the words came out. She trusted him, had never asked anything of him beyond honesty. She gave of herself without condition, and he cherished her for understanding it had been the way he needed to be loved.
“I'll give you the long one, sweetheart. You deserve it,” he answered, slowly closing the distance between them. He stopped in front of her and gazed down into her beautiful blue eyes; eyes so full of yearning that it made his heart ache. He took a deep breath and put his hands on her waist to steady himself.
“As Vanderhagen laid everything out,” he began, “my grand, charitable plan for your life fell apart right in front of my eyes and there wasn't anything I could do to save it. I stood there in his office and all I could see was the fact that I'd been wrong from the beginning. And that you'd just been handed all the money in the world and that you didn't need me for anything. And knowing that hurt like a son of a bitch. All I could think about was getting away, of hiding and licking my wounds.”
He took a deep breath and then gave her the hardest truth, saying, “And even as I tried to run, I realized that Billy had known all along what he was sending me into; that he didn't have enough kindness in him to even warn me so I'd know just what I was facing, so that I wouldn't make a complete jackass of myself. I've spent my life worshiping the ground Billy Weathers walked on, but I hated him in that moment more than I've ever hated anyone. And when you came after me, I poured all that hurt out on you. I'm sorry, Lindsay. From the bottom of my heart, I'm sorry. You've never done anything to earn that kind of poison.”
“Oh, Jack,” she whispered, her heart breaking for him. She reached up and brushed her fingertips over the chiseled planes of his cheek. So many losses in his life. To have his illusions die, too … “I knew you were hurting. And I felt so awful not knowing how to ease it for you. I've never felt so lost or so alone as when you closed yourself away and wouldn't let me in. Promise me you won't ever do that to me or yourself again. Promise that you'll let me help.”
She always gave of herself. A promise to let her was such a small thing to give in return. “I promise, sweetheart. Good, bad, coherent, or completely confused—you'll get nothing but honesty from me from now on.”
“Thank you.” She smiled softly. “But I think you're being too hard on my father. He couldn't have known about the shell game, Jack. He didn't know that he was sending you into a spider's web.”
The irony of her words wasn't lost on him. Somewhere along the way they'd each come to see her father in a different light. How Lindsay had managed to set aside a lifetime of hurt was beyond his understanding. Jack wasn't as willing to forgive. The pain was too new, too raw.
“He knew what kind of man Richard Patterson was, sweetheart. He could have guessed easy enough what was going to happen to the company once he was gone. No, Lindsay. No forgiveness. No excuses. He left you at Patterson's mercy and never looked back. He was a selfish son of a bitch.”
She shook her head and her smile was bittersweet. “You once told me he was the one who made you into the man you are. He couldn't have been all bad, Jack. I will never know a better, finer man than Jackson Stennett.”
“Billy knew me well enough to know that I'd try to make everything right before I walked away,” Jack countered, unable to set aside his anger. “He set me up to play the fool. And I did it beautifully. Right out where you could see every misstep.”
“You're no fool, Jack. And there were no missteps, no mistakes.”
Such conviction, such groundless faith. He reached up to gently trace the purpling line just under the curve of her jaw. “I wasn't right about a single thing except how the game worked,” he said softly. “And taking as long as I did to figure out that it hadn't really ended yet…” He met her gaze. “I almost got you killed. Just one heartbeat, Lindsay.” His throat swelled and tightened. “Just one heartbeat and I would have been too late.”
“But you weren't too late and that's all that matters,” she protested. “You knew I was in danger and you set aside everything else and came to me as fast as you could.” She stretched up to stand on her toes and feathered a kiss across his lips. “Thank you, Jack,” she murmured as she eased away. “Thank you for knowing. For caring. I owe you my life.”
He had no right to the gift, but his heart begged him to take it, to accept what she was willing to give and to spend the rest of his days earning the wonder if it. “I love you, Lindsay,” he said quietly, earnestly. “Heart and soul.”
The words echoed in her heart, joyously rippling through her, filling her with a kind of happiness she'd never known. She wanted to believe it was all she'd ever hoped for, needed to know with absolute certainty that she held all of Jackson's heart. “You weren't going to let yourself love again,” she said cautiously. “I distinctly remember you telling me that.”
“It's not again, Lindsay. I've never loved anyone the way I love you. I'll always remember Maria Arabella and I'll always regret. But life is more than looking back over your shoulder. And while you may not need me in your tomorrows, I sure do need you in mine.”
“Oh, Jack,” she whispered, her eyes misting with tears as she reached up to touch his cheek with a trembling hand. “My darling Jack.”
“I don't want to go back to Texas without you, sweetheart,” he went on, pouring his hope into every word. “I don't want to go anywhere without you. Ever. I don't have anything to offer you, Lindsay. You can buy and sell me ten times over. But if there's any way we could be together … Could you grow to love me? Could you be happy with me? I'm willing—”
Lindsay pressed her fingertips to his lips and gently silenced him. Her heart overflowing, she met his dark gaze and offered him her own truths. “I already love you, Jackson Stennett. I think I've loved you since the very first day I met you. And I do need you. You're my rain, Jack. If you want me to go with you to Texas, I will.”
She felt his heartbeat leap and dance, saw the light of joy spark in his eyes. And then he stiffened slightly and eased his lips away from her touch.
“I'll stay here if that's what you'd prefer. I can sell the ranch and—”
“No,” she interrupted softly. “You were right yesterday; life here is too complicated, too full of lies and ambitions and greed. You don't belong here, Jack. And neither do I. Not anymore. All I want is to love you and spend the rest of my life with you. In Texas.”
He blinked and, as though he didn't dare let himself believe in the completeness of his good fortune, asked cautiously, “How are you going to manage your trust?”
She wanted to laugh, to assure him that nothing would keep her from his side from this moment on. But she knew Jackson, knew the way his mind worked and how he needed to make his way to conclusions one step at a time. “Jeb and I will write a lot of letters to each other.”
“What about Mrs. Theorosa's house? I thought you wanted to live there.”
“It's a house, Jack,” she said with a shrug. “I wouldn't be happy unless you were there to share it with me. Perhaps we could give it to Jeb and Lucy.”
“All right,” he agreed. He cocked a brow and she knew what he was going to ask even before he said, “What about Henry and Agatha?”
“I'm sorry,” she answered, smiling up at him, “but they can't come along. They'll have to stay here and muddle through on their own.”
“What if they make a mess of it?”
“It's not if, Jack. It's when. We both know that. But you're right; it's time they learned to stand on their own and suffer the consequences of bad decisions. Besides,” she added, twining her arms around his neck, “I've spent a lifetime trying to make them happy, and failed. I have noticed, however, that I do seem able to make you smile from time to time.”
He wrapped his arms around her and gently drew her fully against him, “That you do, sweetheart,” he whispered, smiling and brushing a kiss over her lips. “You make me a very happy man. All the time. And if I ever manage to work my way around to forgiving Billy for what he did, it'll only be because I f
ound you in the middle of it all.”
“And I have to be grateful that he went to Texas all those years ago. If he hadn't, you would have never walked into my life and I would have never known how wonderful it is to love and be loved.”
The tension eased out of his shoulders. He gazed down at her adoringly. “I have to leave within a week. I don't have any more time than that. Will you go with me, Lindsay? As my wife?”
She answered him with a kiss and his arms tightened around her, drawing her deeper into the circle of his embrace. No words were necessary. The promise was made deep in their hearts, made part of their souls. They would love each other for all time and through all things. There would be roses in Texas. And they would thrive.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LESLIE LAFOY grew up loving to read and living to write. A former high-school history teacher and department chair, she made the difficult decision to leave academia in 1996 to follow her dream of writing full-time. When not made utterly oblivious to the real world by her current work in progress, she dabbles at being a domestic goddess, and gives credible performances as a hockey, Little League, and Boy Scout mom. A fourth generation Kansan, she lives on ten windswept acres of prairie with her husband and son, a Shetland sheepdog, and Sammy the cat.
JACKSON'S WAY
A Bantam Book / October 2001
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2001 by Leslie LaFoy.
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eISBN: 978-0-307-48650-9
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