aherospromise_211-3e3.htm

by A Hero's Promise (lit)

  Jessica could not help the slight lift her eyebrows executed, but she was able to close her open mouth quickly before jumping to Dane’s defense. It would not do to piss off her potential lead.

  "So how is old Dane, anyway? Heard he got run out of Hollywood a few years ago. Hermited away in Montana or something?"

  "Wyoming," Jessica said. "I think he got a little disenchanted with the scene in L.A."

  "More like L.A. got disenchanted with him," Kyle said with a chuckle. "Aw, I shouldn’t be so critical. He taught me a thing or two. Like how to drink shooters, for example."

  "Getting back to the film, what are you thinking? Does it sound like something you’d like to do?"

  Kyle looked at her solemnly, a slow smile just turning the corners of his lips. His hazel eyes, slightly reddened, seemed glazed for a moment as he peered into hers. At last, he pulled back with a sigh.

  "Let me read it. I’d have to push back another project to do it. But maybe it’s worth it, we’ll see. I’ll have an answer for you… soon. By the time you go home."

  Satisfied, Jessica leaned back in her wicker chair.

  So far, so good.

  Bemused, she watched as he ordered dessert for them both. He was cute, in a boyish way. The evening had begun with his hair combed straight back, but his demonstrative antics had it falling into his face time and again. And despite his egocentric manner, there was an underlying sweetness about him that Jessica found charming.

  Once dwarfed by Dane’s aura, Kyle had grown into celebrity on his own. His enthusiasm for cinematography reminded her of the man Dane once was.

  "You going to eat that or just watch it melt?" he was asking her.

  Jessica picked up her spoon.

  Back in the condo, Jessica found her bags had been unpacked and her bed turned down. Huge, wooden, louvered doors were parted, revealing a balcony that opened above the beach.

  In her bathroom, a basket had been left on the side of the oval tub containing bubble bath, shampoos, conditioners and lotions. Hanging on the door was a thick, velour-terry robe, on the floor, terrycloth mules.

  "This is just too tempting," she whispered, quickly running the water and stripping down.

  Drowsy from the wine, she nearly fell asleep in the tub before finally dragging herself to the too soft bed. The sound of the crashing surf below carried her away.

  Kyle Wagner kept himself very busy at doing nothing, a practice that both satisfied and annoyed Jessica over the next two days. Away from the media, the children, the endless stack of mail and of course, the house where every turn reminded her of the man who would not come home, Jessica felt her tension begin to dissipate.

  The private beach became her sanctuary. She had reading material not braded together--(she had left anything even resembling a screenplay at home), and no one’s face to keep clean but her own. Kyle evaded her attempts to ask about his decision, but Jessica kept her patience in check. She was beginning to feel alive again after months of numbing cold.

  "Wanna go for a drive?"

  Jessica looked up from her book, shading her eyes from the sun as she peered at Kyle’s smiling face. He held out his hand, helping her stand from the sand chair.

  "Ever been to Hana?" he asked from behind the wheel of the black Mercedes Kompressor moments later. "Oh, that’s right, you’ve never been here before."

  "I’ve heard it’s beautiful."

  "617 curves on the road to Hana. Soft, black sandy beaches. There’s even a red sand beach! Rains there nearly every day, and if it’s raining when you get halfway, you’re supposed to turn around and go back because the road is so treacherous in the rain."

  "That’s nice," Jessica murmured.

  "There’s a little winery if it’s open."

  "You’re quite the expert. Ever plan on going home?"

  "The mainland? Never plan on it. But I suppose I’ll run out of money eventually."

  Jessica laughed at his revelation. Kyle was refreshing, if naïve.

  She delighted in the Seven Sacred Pools, giggled at dipping her bare feet into the turquoise waters at Hana Beach Park. He bought her a woven straw hat in the little town, and after a lazy lunch, they were on the way back to Ka’anapali.

  "I’m serious about staying here," he said suddenly, rounding one of the last bends in the road. "I even have a Hawaiian driver’s license." He wrestled his wallet from his pocket and flipped it open in proof. Jessica took it from him. She was surprised to discover they were the same age. He seemed so much younger.

  Or maybe she felt so much older.

  Back at the condo, she couldn’t wait to get into the shower and hurried up the stairs toward her room.

  "I have plans for your dinner, woman. Don’t get too comfortable up there," Kyle called after her.

  "Oh, yeah?" she said over her shoulder in surprise. He merely grinned and waved her along.

  It was dusk, and the small fishing boats were returning to shore, many of them lit with small lanterns. The old whaling port of Lahaina was the charming antithesis of modern, upscale Ka’anapali, and its romantic atmosphere impressed Jessica.

  "This place used to be The Blue Max. They have awesome pizza, salads, and the best damned Mai Tais you could ever hope to suck down."

  "Okay," Jessica said, tearing her eyes away from the sublime sunset to meet Kyle’s gaze. She was only halfway through her first drink when Kyle ordered a third.

  Jessica stayed his hand.

  "You’d better save some room for pizza," she cautioned with a smile.

  "Don’t worry. I won’t go horizontal on you anytime soon." He lowered his eyes slightly, adding, "Not unless you want me to."

  Unsure of his meaning, Jessica felt herself blush, hoping the dim light hid the fact. She straightened slightly.

  "So tell me about you and Dane in Amande," she suggested, immediately sorry she had brought up Dane’s name.

  Kyle straightened a little also, clearing his throat and tightening his grip on the Mai Tai glass. "Aw, Pierce isn’t such a bad guy. He wasn’t at his best, you know, with you around, and I guess I can relate."

  Jessica tilted her head in question. Kyle did not look her in the eye, but continued with a little chuckle. "Matter of fact, now that your husband isn’t around, forgive me for saying so, I’m mighty surprised Dane hasn’t… well, I wouldn’t be shocked if he stormed in here right now and tossed me into the breakers." He took a moment during Jessica’s stunned silence to swirl his drink. "But we’re on even ground, now, I’d say. After all, you’re here, I’m here, he’s not…"

  "I don’t know what you’re talking about," Jessica finally managed softly.

  "That’s what I love about you. You can be so damned innocent of everything, and sincerely, too. You could miss a freight train heading right for you."

  At this comment, Jessica laughed nervously, her eyes still wide in surprise. "Whatever you say," she murmured finally, dismissing his statement as the ramblings of an inebriated man-child. They were both saved by the delivery of the pizza.

  ~ * ~

  "That’s Moloka’i, Lana’i, and Kaho’olawe over there."

  "Ever been to any of those islands?" Jessica asked as they strolled along Launiupoko Wayside Park after dinner.

  "Moloka’i. Like everyone else, I just thought it was all about leper colonies. It’s nothing like that. Just beauty, everywhere you look." Kyle sighed, and directed Jessica to a nearby bench where they sat down. "I want to talk to you about the film."

  Jessica drew in a breath and waited. Kyle slipped his arm around her and leaned close.

  "I want to do it, but I’m afraid."

  "Afraid? Why?"

  He ran his hand slowly up and down her arm, his embrace becoming more intimate as he pushed her hair aside with his chin and then pressed his lips against her ear. Jessica shuddered.

  "I don’t want what happened to Dane to happen to me," he whispered. "But I know you won’t understand that."

  Jessica turned, confused and feeling i
ndignant. "If you think I had anything to do with Dane disappearing from the scene, you’re wrong. Dane and I are friends, good friends, and he was good friends with Mac, too."

  "Shhh. Never mind. Forget I said anything."

  "No, I--"

  "I said forget it." Kyle brought his other arm around to fully encircle her, pressing his forehead softly against hers. "Let’s go back."

  The next several minutes were hazy for Jessica as she tried to decipher Kyle’s cryptic suggestions and recover from his intimate touch. The brief ride back to the condo was spent in silence, and once inside, Kyle excused himself while she sat on the couch decompressing. She was just about to retire to her bedroom when Kyle returned from his and joined her. From an envelope stashed in his breast pocket, he removed a small cigarette. He lit it with a lighter, drawing in a deep drag before handing it to Jessica.

  Alarms went off in her head and she held up her hand.

  "Suit yourself," he mumbled, coughing as he let the smoke escape his throat. "Just a couple of hits to take the edge off."

  Jessica nodded, but her face reflected her dismay that Kyle felt the need for further chemically induced relaxation in her presence. He seemed to sense her disappointment and cleared away the contraband.

  "Don’t partake, do you?"

  "No. A drink now and then is about all I can handle. Especially since Devon was born," she replied.

  "I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Forgive me?" His smile was appealing, and he again took the liberty of sliding his fingers across her back to draw her closer.

  "It’s okay." Jessica stiffened slightly, but let him take her into his arms. She was tired, emotionally spent, and suddenly very lonely. The fact that Kyle was being anything but affectionate did not cross her mind.

  Until his lips were hovering so close to hers that his true intention was apparent. He asked no permission before plundering her mouth, pressing her slowly backward on the couch while stretching his long legs out alongside hers as they reclined. She started to protest, but became caught up in the kiss and instead grasped him around the neck.

  The kiss became kisses, hot, hungry kisses lasting an eternity of mindlessness Jessica would later question. It felt so good, so completely enthralling to be loved, caressed, cherished once more…

  Cherished? It was a word she would have applied to her late husband; it definitely did not describe the wanton, frantic way Kyle was now tearing at her clothes. She squirmed beneath him, clawing her way back from the abyss into which she had briefly fallen, struggling to locate his wrists and pull his hands away from her breasts.

  "Kyle, no."

  Still he wrestled in passion, unwittingly pushing her harder, apparently driven by her denial.

  "I can’t do this!" Speaking with force directly into his ear, Jessica managed to disengage herself from his lustful attack and sit up.

  Clearly perplexed, Kyle pushed the hair from his glistening brow and stared at her as she hastened to re-button her blouse.

  "I’m sorry. I should never have come here. I didn’t think--"

  "You didn’t think what? That I would come on to you? Well there you go." He stood up and strode to the refrigerator. "That’s just what I was talking about," he called to her. Visibly shaken, he twisted the cap off of a bottle of beer. "I’m the one who’s sorry. I saw it coming."

  Jessica stood up, tucking in her blouse and taking a deep breath. "Well I guess I have my answer. Thank you for your hospitality. Don’t bother your driver, I’ll get a cab to the airport in the morning."

  He smiled then, a sad smile, and held up his bottle in a mock toast.

  Six

  Foul Play

  "She’s back," the voice on the phone said. "No deal."

  "You’re sure?"

  "Not yet anyway."

  Dane hung up the replacement phone and carefully seated it back on the base. It had been his first purchase upon returning to Wyoming, another painful reminder of the days just prior to Mac’s death. But this phone call was a good omen. Slumping back against the brown leather couch, he contemplated this latest development.

  "So, no deal." He smiled to himself and now stood up. "The kid didn’t make the mark." This was reason to celebrate.

  In the kitchen, he found a near-empty bottle of vodka and poured the last of it into a glass, topping it off with orange juice. He threw the bottle toward the over-full wastebasket, where it rolled off the heap and crashed to the floor, sending broken glass skittering across the terra cotta. Unthinking, he took a step toward the mess and immediately set his bare heel down upon a jagged shard.

  "God damn it!"

  Backing quickly away, he left a trail of blood mixed with remnants of vodka on the tile floor, splashing his screwdriver as he hopped.

  "Damn." Dane leaned back against the sink counter, surveying the mess he had made, and took a big gulp of his drink. Then, reaching over his opposite shoulder, he put down his glass and whipped a dishtowel from the counter, squatting to wrap it around his bleeding heel.

  "This really sucks," he murmured, now hobbling out of the kitchen and in the general direction of his bedroom. The stairs were not easy to negotiate, but Dane managed to make it to the master bathroom where he began pawing through the medicine cabinet in search of a bandage.

  Exasperated, he stared at the bottles of sleeping pills and pain relievers, antacids and eye drops.

  "Not even one stinking Band-aid? Jesus!"

  Hopping to the bedroom phone, he pushed the button marked "intercom", hoping he could raise someone in the barn.

  "Greg? You wouldn’t happen to have a first aid kit down there, would you?"

  "Be right there, Boss."

  Fifteen minutes later, Dane grimaced as Greg snapped the lid shut on the medic kit.

  "You really could use some help up here," Greg said, shaking his head. "Especially if you don’t plan to be around this winter. There’s stuff that has to be done, you know, when it’s freezing outside. This ain’t L.A."

  While pulling on a fresh pair of white socks, Dane frowned at his groom. Greg ignored the look, his eyes panning the bedroom and its various disasters borne of deferred housekeeping.

  "When’s that cleaning gal coming back, anyway? Have you seen the kitchen--"

  "Yes. I have seen the kitchen."

  "I mean, excuse me for saying so, but it’s not like you can’t afford to hire a few people to help out. Over’t the Perons’ place, they got servants all over the place."

  Dane’s frown became a glare. "Now that you mention it, why don’t you just get a broom and dustpan and take care of that little accident in the kitchen?"

  Greg now grinned, backing out the bedroom door. "I actually have to get back. I think Whiskey threw a shoe."

  Dane gritted his teeth. Whiskey had not thrown a shoe, but he could not be mad at Greg. Greg’s responsibility was the horses, not the kitchen floor.

  In search of his drink, Dane went back to the bathroom and retrieved the last sip. Bringing it to his mouth, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. What he saw caused him to put the glass down and lean closer to the mirror.

  "Pierce, you look like absolute crap."

  He picked up a comb and hastily began running it through his unkempt locks, combing them away from his face. But it wasn’t just his hair, or the stubble on his chin. It was more the dark circles below his eyes; the lines in his forehead; the tell-tale bulge above his waistband.

  Hastily, he pulled up his t-shirt and gave his belly a critical eye, turning a profile and sucking in the shapelessness that was beginning to form.

  "Damnation," he murmured.

  Returning to the great room downstairs, he sat down, newly dismayed. Greg had left today’s mail on the coffee table, and he reached for the magazine at the bottom of the stack, thumbing through it in avoidance of thought.

  On page thirty-six was a photo that all but stopped his heart. How did they get it so quickly? He groaned in disgust.

  The man in the photo with he
r could have been himself, ten years ago. Youthful, shining, poised. Where had that little punk gained such confidence? How dare he. How dare he touch her, a woman of integrity, a woman of such… quality.

  Dane slapped the magazine closed and tossed it onto the table, only to pick it up again moments later and return to page thirty-six.

  It was only an arm; an arm around a woman, a smiling woman. What did it mean?

  The magazine was unceremoniously dropped back onto the table.

  It meant he was going back to Los Angeles.

  ~ * ~

  It took him almost a full day to clean up the beach house. He didn’t want to hire someone to do it; he trusted no one in this town. His beer cans could end up on page thirty-seven.

  A commotion at the front screened door made him turn around.

  "Where can a poor fellow get a pint around here?" The man’s voice, a just-outside-London dialect, brought a smile to Dane’s lips.

  "Pete! What the hell?"

  Holding the door open for his former personal assistant, Dane clapped Peter Welles on the back as he strode into the small living room.

  "So it’s come to this, eh? A small house on the beach? Finally living where you want! I’m duly impressed. Now, where’s that drink?"

  "I’ve got Evian, Diet Coke and ginger ale. Name your poison."

  Peter reached up to take the taller man’s face between his hands. "No booze?" Quickly he pressed the back of his hand against Dane’s forehead. "You taken ill, man?"

  Dane chuckled. "Nope. Just cleaning up a little. But there’s a pub down the way if you want a brew. Just let me change."

  Thirty minutes later, Dane faced Peter across a booth at the corner saloon. He casually assessed his old friend while sipping iced tea. Peter had worry lines that were not a part of his features when he’d left the United States four years before. Still a bit on the portly side, his brown hair somewhat thinner but still held in his characteristic ponytail.

  "So whatcha been up to, my man?"

  "No good, I’m sure," Peter answered, lifting a mug of dark ale to his lips. "I won’t bullshit you, Dane. I’ve had a bit of trouble of late."

  "And what kind of trouble would that be? Money? Female? Scotland Yard?"