aherospromise_211-3e3.htm

by A Hero's Promise (lit)

  "Dane? Are you there?"

  "I’m on my way." He put the phone down and drew in a deep breath. "I’ve gotta go," he said, hoping his manager would leave without asking for an explanation. It was, however, not to be.

  "Who was that at this hour? Some broad?"

  "Yeah. Some broad. No, a friend. I have to go bail her out."

  "Literally? Are you nuts?"

  "Been accused of worse," Dane replied, searching the kitchen counter for his wallet. "I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Let me know what Reiner says."

  "Dane, man, you can’t show your face down there. It will be all over the damned papers, the net, e-weekly…"

  "You want to go for me? Think your wife would understand you bailing an exotic dancer out of jail?"

  The man closed his eyes and sighed. "I’ll go with you. Maybe we can get in and out without much crap."

  ~ * ~

  If Trina had not been so battered, Dane would have sworn it was a trap. He was not quick enough to turn his head before the flashes went off as he and Trina exited the station and hurried down the steps. Reporters? At 1 a.m.? Were they like zombies, roaming the streets at night? Woodson Rawlins seemed beside himself.

  "Well this will look good," he said in the car, turning around from the driver’s seat to peer at Dane and his "friend".

  "Woody, shut the fuck up." Dane took Trina’s chin and turned her face from side to side, examining the cut on her lip and the bruises around her eye. "Who did this to you?"

  "It doesn’t matter. He thought I was offering more than a peek."

  "And you weren’t," Rawlins said with a sarcastic slant to his lips.

  Dane issued a glare. "You should have given the cops his name. How can you let someone get away with this? They thought you were turning tricks."

  "It’s not the first time."

  Dane just shook his head. Trina was definitely one messed-up chick. "Where can we drop you?"

  "Anywhere."

  "Give me an address or I’ll take you back to Rampart."

  Trina muttered an address in Hollywood, and Dane eventually let her out of the car. She declined a walk to the door.

  "I’m sorry about this. Really. It won’t happen again. And--thank you," she said, keeping her eyes averted.

  "Oh, don’t mention it," Dane said lightly, his own eyes roaming over the night sky. "My sterling reputation can stand a little tarnishing now and then."

  "Yeah, right. See ya."

  Probably not. Dane got into the front seat and Rawlins drove him back home. Not a word was spoken the entire way.

  ~ * ~

  "This is incredibly hard," Jessica murmured, carrying the yellow tablet with her as she went from room to room, making notes. Each piece of furniture was to be tagged with a final destination. Some would be sold, some donated, some stored. She did not know how long she would be in Wyoming, but she had to assume that the house would sell and close escrow within the next few weeks. Mrs. Tuttle had indicated that two offers were being written.

  In short, she might not get another opportunity to organize her move. She ignored the fact that she had no new home picked out. She had not even looked.

  The good news was that Lydia had returned to work, and was even now answering the phone as it rang.

  "It’s Mr. Pierce," she sang out from the kitchen.

  Jessica put down her tablet and picked up the phone in her office. "You getting ready to leave?"

  "Yeah," Dane responded. "I just wanted to touch base with you. When do you expect you’ll be up?"

  "We reserved our tickets this morning. We’re leaving a week from today. April sixteenth, I think."

  "Great."

  "Dev’s really excited. I couldn’t back out now if I wanted to. Which I don’t."

  Dane chuckled softly but said nothing more. Jessica felt something amiss. "Everything okay?"

  "Sure. I had a tough night last night."

  "Oh really? What happened?"

  Again the silence.

  "Dane?"

  "Oh, it was nothing, really. Woody was here, we were up late, we had to go help a friend out with something… nothing important. So… be sure to bring your heavy coats, it’s still pretty nippy up there. Had a snow just two weeks ago."

  "Devon will love that. He’s in packing his toys right now."

  "Make sure you give me your flight number. I’ll have the jet waiting in Salt Lake to bring you on up."

  "I can’t wait." Jessica caught her own reflection in the mirror. The smile on her face surprised her. "Have a great flight, and I’ll talk to you soon."

  "I’ll call you tonight."

  ~ * ~

  Jessica found herself waiting for that call.

  "Lydia? Where did we leave the portable?"

  "I think you were sitting on the couch last."

  Idly, Jessica thumbed through the home flyers Mrs. Tuttle had left her. Nothing looked remotely appealing. The homes were nice enough, certainly costly enough, and were in all the "right" neighborhoods. She looked up from time to time, glancing around the living room at the walls she would be replacing. It did not feel right to stay in this house, nor did it feel right to be looking for a new one.

  She stacked the flyers up and put them on the counter. Her lack of enthusiasm depressed her, and she longed to get moving.

  "Lyd?"

  "What now, m’lady?" Just back from Argentina, the girl Jessica had re-hired as her personal assistant was baking a cherry pie. Her comical response brought a smile to Jessica’s lips.

  "You think we could move our flight up?"

  Lydia appeared in the doorway, and Jessica gave her a beseeching look. Lydia propped her hands on her more-than-amble hips. "No, I don’t. We won’t be ready any sooner!"

  "You’re right. You’re always right."

  "That’s why you hired me. Now, you want some pie, or what?"

  Jessica patted her stomach. "I’ve really got to start watching…"

  "Yeah, right. You are a twig beside me. And in Dane’s eyes you are walking perfection. Have some pie."

  In Dane’s eyes. Jessica paused a moment to stare at Lydia’s bright smile. Despite the fact that Lydia was a good ten years younger, she often saw things through the eyes of a mature woman. I’m so lucky to have her, Jessica thought, spooning a scoop of vanilla ice cream onto the top of her pie.

  She watched as Lydia went about tidying up the kitchen. Her coffee-bean brown hair was pulled into a tight ponytail and hung to her waist in a thick broom. She wore no bangs, little make-up, and her equally dark brown eyes nearly always twinkled with contented joy.

  Jessica remembered approaching Lydia at the preschool Devon attended, just days after the plane crash. The job was to be temporary, a generous "loan" from the preschool, and Lydia went back to the school after a couple of months. But she had missed Devon and Jessica, and had eventually offered to return permanently. Thank God for that!

  "Devon MacKendall, if you want some pie you’d better get your handsome self in here right now," Lydia was calling down the hallway.

  "Why did you say that? About Dane, I mean?" Jessica asked.

  "Do you think I’m brain-dead? A person would have to in a coma not to see how he is around you. I should be so lucky to have a man like him around me someday."

  Jessica sat very still, her tongue savoring the over-sweet cherry pie filling in her mouth. Suddenly her mind switched gears. "Has Roxanne called lately? Have I missed any calls?"

  "Not that I know of. Except for that Wagner guy that you said not to give to you."

  "Kyle? When did he call?"

  "Mmmm, three or four days ago."

  "Really."

  She was almost asleep when the phone finally rang on her nightstand. Still, she grabbed it on the first ring.

  "Hi. Sorry it’s so late." Dane sounded more than weary.

  "It’s okay. I was still up. Everything okay?"

  "Colder than a witch’s--uh, well, let’s just say it isn’t sunny California."

>   "That’s a good thing." Jessica closed her eyes, imagining Dane’s mouth as he formed the words. It didn’t really matter what he was talking about. She wondered what the house looked like, where he was sitting, standing, lying down…

  "Jess?"

  "I’m sorry, what did you say?"

  "I asked if Lydia was coming with you."

  "If it’s okay."

  "It’s a good idea. We can use the help. My girl just quit."

  It was a brief phone call, and despite her earlier sleepiness, Jessica tossed in her bed. She considered the sleeping pills her doctor had prescribed just after Mac’s death, but decided against them. There had to be a better way to start sleeping at night.

  Too much was happening and not happening at the same time. Her attorney had recommended that she again hire a personal manager, but she was reluctant; she and Mac had handled all of their own affairs for the past few years. She wasn’t even working; she should be able to deal with her life. Unbidden, her mental "list" came to mind.

  The murder investigation had stalled.

  The sale of the house would be one less thing to worry about, except that she had to find a new one. She had not made the time, yet, to follow up on the lead on Chester’s father. And why was that? What was she afraid of? The prospect of a successful adoption had improved, now that the other couple was supposedly opting out; yet her "reputation" was not getting any better. Irma Carvey probably already knew she was moving in with Dane.

  Moving in with Dane? Was she? Jessica’s eyes opened wide in the darkness.

  Oh, Mac. I’m sorry… I really want to do this. It will be so good for Devon… he needs a man in his life… Dane is wonderful for him… and anyway, it’s not like I’m sleeping with him.

  "How long before this is over, Jessica? When can I stop wondering?"

  "I don’t know what you mean." She had taken a tiny step backward, distracted and unaware of her own movements.

  "Of course you do. Let’s see, how did it go tonight? He doesn’t want you to marry me, right? We’re not right for each other… or maybe, the marriage doesn’t even matter. Maybe it would be more interesting for him to be "the other man" this time."

  Stop it. Go away! It’s over… I can’t stay married to a dead man, Mac!

  But the memories would not stop until the entire scene had played out. It was so long ago, and yet… so vivid it might have been yesterday…

  "Fight with me, Jess, c’mon. I’m ready. I’m as mad as hell. Don’t walk away leaving me to believe you still want Pierce…"

  "No!"

  "He snaps his fingers and you jump in your car, no, into my God-damned car, and run off to be with him. He wants you now, doesn’t he? More than ever…"

  This is crazy!

  Jessica threw back the covers and went to the bathroom. In the medicine cabinet was the almost-full prescription bottle with the child-safe cap. Blinking against the too-bright bathroom light, she twisted off the cap and looked into the small bottle of capsules, tears filling her eyes until she could no longer focus.

  And before she could change her mind, she dumped the entire bottle into the toilet and flushed them away.

  Back in bed, she lay flat on her back and stifled her own sobbing.

  I can do this. Things will get better.

  Holding her eyes tightly closed, she sniffed, and swallowed hard.

  I won’t sleep with him. I promise.

  Nineteen

  Jackson

  Roxanne was still mad at her. Why, Jessica just wasn’t sure. She hung up the phone feeling empty, nearly grieved. It seemed to have started just after the Halloween party, but was really evident during the weeks Roxanne had watched Devon while Jessica worked. They had barely spoken since.

  Regardless of what had touched her off, Roxanne was tight-lipped and made no effort to warm up when Jessica called to tell her good-bye. She seemed unimpressed either way that her best friend would be gone an indefinite length of time, and would be living with a man she disliked.

  Jessica tried to push the sadness aside and instead focused on moving from point A to B, B being Wyoming and perhaps, some sense of salvation.

  Her "to do" list was looking better. As a result of Roxanne’s cold reception, Jessica decided to have her mail forwarded to the ranch. She would leave a voice-mail number with a select few, including Sgt. Denehy and Mrs. Tuttle. Gretchen, her ex-housekeeper, would be happy to "watch" the house for her, and Jessica decided to give the woman Mac’s antique roll-top desk as a gift. Gretchen was tearfully grateful.

  On a whim, Jessica called the adoption services office where her case was being handled, to be certain they had the direct phone number of Dane’s home in Wyoming. She did not want to risk missing a call.

  "Mrs. MacKendall? My name is Russ Morrison. Irma Carvey is on vacation. Is there something I can help you with?"

  "I have an application in process and I wanted to make sure you have the phone number where I will be staying over the next several weeks."

  "I see. The problem is, I don’t seem to have a file on you. But go ahead and give me the number. Perhaps it’s just misplaced somewhere on Irma’s desk."

  Jessica gave the man the number, along with her personal voice mail number and e-mail address. "I’d really appreciate any news as it becomes available, Mr. Morrison. My little nephew is my first priority right now. Well, first after my own son, that is," she added.

  "MacKendall… oh, that’s right, the little heart patient. He’s your nephew?"

  "That’s right. And I understand," Jessica began, swallowing hard, "that the Bandorfs, the couple that was trying to adopt him, may have changed their minds. I hope that I will be seriously considered at this point."

  The man paused, and Jessica could hear the shuffling of papers. "I have Chester’s file right here. I see quite a list of prospective parents, but your name is not on it."

  Jessica’s heart began to flutter. At a loss for words, she could only gasp for a moment. "Mr. Morrison, I was the first person to apply. I have a copy of my signed and dated application right here. I would be happy to… to fax you a copy…"

  Now Morrison seemed as flustered as she. "Well, yes, by all means if you have access to a fax machine, I would like to see that application. As a matter of fact, we are beginning interviews next week. I’m sure there’s just some mix up here, Mrs. MacKendall. I’ll have Irma call you just as soon as she returns."

  "I’d really prefer you call me, Mr. Morrison."

  "I’ll do what I can."

  Thoughtful, Jessica re-filed her application and stuck the file into her suitcase. Before leaving, she had one last call to make.

  ~ * ~

  The phone rang three times before the sergeant picked it up. "This is Denehy."

  "Sgt. Denehy, this is Jessica MacKendall."

  The policeman picked up his pen and straightened his back. "Mrs. MacKendall. What can I do for you?"

  "Well, I was wondering if there was any news."

  "I’m sorry to say, no. Whatever leads there are, they aren’t very good ones. But we will continue to work on this, you have my word." Denehy removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then leaned back in his chair. "Mac was a friend of mine. I won’t let this rest, Mrs. MacKendall."

  The silence on the line made him wish he had not spoken so freely; the young widow was undoubtedly anguished over her husband’s death. Yet it was only a moment or two before she responded.

  "Thank you. And if you don’t mind, I have a favor to ask."

  "Shoot."

  "I was wondering if you could advise me on how to go about finding a private detective to help me find someone."

  "Who and where? L.A.?"

  "I need to track down my orphaned nephew’s biological father. Possibly in Minnesota."

  Denehy scribbled some words on his notepad. "I’m not sure that would be very useful information. Might be best to just let that go."

  "It would be very useful information, to me. Never mind. I’ll find som
eone in Minneapolis to help me."

  ~ * ~

  As promised, upon their arrival in Salt Lake City, Dane’s Lear Jet scooped them up. It was a short flight into Jackson, and Greg Singleton was at the airstrip with an over-sized all-wheel drive truck, a brand new child’s car seat installed in back.

  It was a brief ride to the ranch. There was, indeed, snow on the ground, and the three travelers from Los Angeles stared in wide-eyed excitement.

  "Can we make a snowman, Mom?" Devon wanted to know.

  "Sure…" Jessica murmured, glad that practical Lydia had bought gloves and snow boots for them all.

  Peter met them at the house. Jessica was in awe of the size of the main house, covering nearly five thousand square feet. Only the back half had second story rooms; the front living room and entry had high, open beamed ceilings.

  "Dane will be back shortly. He had to make a run in to town," Peter told her. "I’ll show you the rooms."

  There were seven bedrooms in the house, two modest ones on the main level and five more upstairs. The room Dane had designated for Jessica was spacious and decorated with contemporary, western treatments. A small fireplace was built in one corner; a generous, full bathroom in another. A four-poster bed was central, with a writing desk against one wall. The last wall opened to a balcony through French doors, providing a westerly view of the ranch and its adjacent creek.

  Jessica stretched out on the bed. The room was perfect, except for the steer horns over the mantel. Those would have to go.

  She wondered for a moment why Dane had chosen to put Devon in with Alexander. Surely there were more than enough rooms to give each boy his own.

  She was contemplating her still unpacked bags when there was a subtle knock on the door. Too comfortable to get off the bed, she called out her permission to enter.

  He didn’t say anything at first. Dane seemed content to just gaze upon her, crossing his arms across his chest as he leaned casually against the doorjamb.

  "You like?" he said at last.

  "I like." She forced herself to sit up, despite her weariness.