aherospromise_211-3e3.htm

by A Hero's Promise (lit)

  Jessica didn’t answer, having no appropriate response in mind. She was still in awe of his affection, still getting used to his tender love.

  They lay quiet for a while. Jessica thought Dane might have fallen asleep; it had been a long, tedious trip. But soon he issued a deep sigh.

  "How are things with Roxanne? She seemed okay at the wedding, right?"

  Jessica mirrored his sigh. "Not really." She didn’t want to disturb the gentle ambiance that surrounded them, but knew she had to tell him what had transpired. "She was still very aloof. I talked to Tom about her the next morning. He told me she had a miscarriage in January, and that she hasn’t been the same since."

  Dane uttered a groan.

  "After that false pregnancy she had a few years back, this was a terrible blow. And she never told me about it. She’s going through therapy and everything."

  "Man. That’s rough."

  "Did you know that Tom had a vasectomy reversal?" Jessica said, her voice sounding more conspiratorial than she had planned. She sensed Dane was grinning, although her eyes were still closed as she lay against his chest.

  "It’s not the kind of chit-chat in which we usually indulge, Darlin’."

  "And now, she worries all the time that she’ll be pregnant and lose another baby. It must be hell." Jessica nestled closer. "Anyway, I think that was really cool of him to do that. His son was already grown when he met Rox. She wanted--still wants--a baby with him and I don’t blame her. It’s the ultimate connection, you know?"

  "Mmmm."

  "I still can’t understand why she didn’t tell me, or why she’s so uptight. We’ve been like sisters… for years. It’s like she blames me for something."

  "I gave up trying to understand her a long time ago. Don’t lose too many brain cells over this, okay? It might not be worth it. We’ve got a lot of issues to deal with already."

  "I know. I just… just hate it."

  "Mmmm."

  ~ * ~

  They dined by candlelight in the hotel dining room. They had "dressed" for dinner, and Dane looked as handsome as she’d ever seen him. The flickering flames gave a glint to the jade in his eyes, eyes that focused on hers with both desire and devotion. Emotions at a high, Jessica felt an on-going rush that would not subside. She could barely eat.

  It did not feel like they were married. It was more like a date, despite their long history of entanglement. There was no idle chitchat, no talk of the children or the ranch or the next film. She forgot, for the time, that this was the man who had once broken her naïve heart, who had nearly trashed her marriage but had gone on to help deliver her son; who had risked his life more than once for her. Instead, this was the man she wanted to keep under lock and key. A man whose love and attention she craved, and would forever cherish.

  Their love, she knew, was impossibly complicated. But tonight would be different. Tonight would be a simple man, a simple woman, an exquisitely uncomplicated affair between two people addicted to love and addicted to each other.

  They walked on the beach, neither aware nor caring about the hour. He led her to the place they both sought, a small alcove of boulders cropping out of the sand.

  "Care for a quick tumble?" he asked, his eyes crinkling in merriment as he pretended to loosen his bowtie.

  Jessica laughed. "No, thank you. I’m not into quick, and I’m too grown up now to think that sex on the beach is all that glamorous."

  "Ha! You’d rather be tied to that too-soft mattress upstairs, would you?"

  "I’d rather be tied to you." She reached up and gave the bowtie a little tug.

  "Ah, but you are. For life, woman."

  Her smile faded at the implication. Life, she’d learned, was a tenuous thing. Yet despite the comic expression, she knew Dane’s words were from the heart, and she felt her blush spreading all over again. She made a solemn, silent vow to make the most of their life together.

  It was dawn before they both slept. And while Dane did not actually tie her to the bed, he did see that her every desire was met. And Jessica was far from worrying about satisfying Dane; their lovemaking had never been so complete. In her fairy tale state of mind, she wished it could last forever.

  Twenty-five

  Disappointment and Deceit

  "What? I can’t believe this! We had an appointment! This is absolutely… irresponsible and really, down right mean." Jessica was on her feet, arms akimbo, her voice rising beyond propriety in the small office. Irma Carvey leaned back in her chair, fingers laced in her lap.

  "Mrs. Pierce. I warned you that approval of your petition was not likely. I’m sorry you made this trip for nothing. Mr. Morrison was unaware that Mr. and Mrs. De--uh, another couple, had already been awarded custody."

  Jessica walked to the only window in the room and looked out. A few older children were tossing a basketball around in the play yard below.

  "And you couldn’t even make a phone call to let us know?"

  "I regret that we couldn’t reach you in… wherever you were entertaining yourselves…"

  Ignoring her obvious barb, Jessica responded coldly. "You could have called our home. We are constantly in touch."

  "Oh, yes, that place where you left your existing children to stay alone with an unmarried, undocumented couple. That home."

  Dane stood up. "Jess, let’s get out of here."

  Jessica whirled about and again approached the desk. "This is utterly preposterous. If my husband were here, he would never stand for this. You wouldn’t have given him all this grief!"

  Irma Carvey smirked and closed the file on her desk. "I thought your husband was here, Mrs. Pierce."

  Jessica colored. "I meant… my late husband."

  "Despite the fact that it is, unfortunately, a moot point, Mr. MacKendall was a blood relative. You are not. Good afternoon."

  Seething, Jessica stormed from the office with Dane close behind.

  ~ * ~

  He didn’t know how to approach her. He’d rarely seen such rage in the woman he now called his wife. They went to lunch, and he ordered her a drink.

  "What’s this for?"

  "To calm you down."

  "I don’t need calming down. I need an attorney. Or a gun."

  "This isn’t over yet," Dane said, handing her the Bloody Mary the waiter had delivered.

  "You bet it’s not over. God, I hate that woman!"

  "She’s a peach, all right. I’ve already put in a call to Brady."

  "Somehow, I don’t think there’s anything he can do," Jessica bemoaned, than drank half of the spicy cocktail in one draught. "She’s a witch."

  "That may be, but we can’t give up yet."

  Her agitation wore Jessica out. By bedtime she was lethargic and withdrawn, and declined Dane’s half-hearted advances.

  ~ * ~

  The following morning she was alert and matter-of-fact, and anxious to get home to Devon. Dane, however, had more business to which to attend. He bid her an affectionate goodbye at the airport and then drove his rental car to the Marian Pierce House.

  "Gosh, if we’d known you were coming we would have cleaned up a little," Paula said as Dane came around the front counter and into the back office.

  "No problem. I just need to look through some of the financials, correspondence, that kind of stuff."

  "Sure. You can use Char’s desk. We, uh, left it the way it was."

  "Great."

  Dane spent the better part of the day digging through ledgers, files and notebooks. Anything that seemed even remotely interesting was painstakingly copied and stuffed into his briefcase. Last, he tackled Charlene’s own desk.

  "I suppose the police or the Feds have already been through this?"

  "No, not really," Paula answered with a shrug.

  Dane lifted his eyebrows but did not comment.

  He’d almost finished, coming up with nothing more than an invitation to Jessica and Mac’s wedding and a half empty prescription bottle for Valium. In the lowermost drawer was a sm
all clutch purse. Dane started to leave it there, but decided he’d make a thorough search or none at all. Unzipping the top, he winced at the sight of two sanitary napkins stuffed into one side section of the purse.

  "Damn," he muttered, gingerly pushing them aside. Beneath them was a small cluster of cards rubber-banded together. A credit card, bearing a woman’s name he did not recognize, was on top. A well-worn letter, folded very small and dated thirty years before, was from Chuck MacKendall and begged his only daughter to come home. Last, two photographs.

  One, faded with age, was of two tow-headed children with huge brown eyes, possibly three and five years of age. The boy was the spitting image of Devon.

  Dane sighed heavily and slipped the photo into the breast pocket of his shirt. The second photo was recent; Dane’s heart began to pound with anticipation. Charlene looked good; her now waist long hair, back to its natural, gleaming blond, hung in waves around her. A happy, contented grin adorned her face. Dane smiled in spite of his grim determination. Next, his eye examined the young man in the picture with Charlene. Dark, unshaven and sleepy looking, the man had his arm around Charlene.

  "Paula? Do you recognize this guy?"

  "Uh… that would be Frankie. She dated him for awhile. He was no big deal. Stayed here a couple of nights to dry out."

  "Has he been around at all since?"

  "Nope. Didn’t show for the funeral, either."

  "Got a last name?"

  "No. We don’t require it. That’s all I know. Except that he drove a nice car. But some of them do. Dealers."

  "You think he was? A drug dealer?"

  "Could be. No way to know, now."

  "Hmmm." Dane now pocketed this photo as well, and packed up to go.

  Back in his hotel room, he laid out the individual pieces of potential "evidence," carefully examining each one. Beside them he placed the photograph of Charlene’s erstwhile boyfriend.

  He sighed. "Frankie" did not, in any way, resemble a politician. For one thing, he was too young. Probably even younger than Charlene. And anyway, he was probably only one of many male companions Charlene had entertained during the past few years.

  Far more interesting was a sizable donation funding most of the newly completed wing. The donor was a local man, one Steven F. Conway.

  Dane had only skimmed the information while sitting at Charlene’s desk. Now, upon closer inspection, the words seemed to leap out at him.

  "Bingo." Dane took his yellow highlighter and dragged the point across the words beneath Conway’s name. Minnesota House of Representatives.

  There it was. A connection. But why? While it was certainly not unusual for politicians to make charitable contributions of this sort, it struck Dane as odd. Perhaps a visit to the representative was in order.

  ~ * ~

  "Mr. Pierce! What a pleasure to finally meet you. My girls will never believe this. Here, have a seat." The congressman released Dane’s hand and gestured to a large leather chair opposite the desk behind which he was now sitting. "To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?"

  "I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice. I was just in town, cleaning up things a bit at the House. My late partner was a fastidious bookkeeper, and I fear I’ve let things go somewhat since she passed away."

  "I know what you mean. I’m terrible at record-keeping."

  "Yeah, well, I hear they don’t give awards in heaven for keeping every gas receipt. I did notice, though, your generous help in building the addition. I wanted to thank you for that."

  Steven Conway grinned, looking down at his fingers, which were fiddling with a gold letter opener. "It was a very worthy cause." He was older than Dane had imagined. In his fifties, with a shining scalp and a small, ski-slope nose. A friendly face, nonetheless.

  Dane nodded, his eyes traveling over the other items on the congressman’s desk. They lit on a pewter-framed photograph of the man, a woman and two middle-school aged girls. "Lovely family."

  "Oh! Yes. Aren’t they beautiful? They make my life worth living. You have kids, Mr. Pierce?"

  Dane started to suggest that he preferred ‘Dane,’ but decided he liked the formality and the implied respect. "Yes. I have two daughters also, and two sons. Handfuls, all of them."

  "I hear you. I have a son too, but the rascal wasn’t around the day we took that. Baseball game he couldn’t get out of. You know how it is."

  "Indeed I do. So, I understand you’ve just announced a run for the governor’s seat?"

  Conway fairly blushed. "Why, yes. News travels fast, doesn’t it? But yes, I think I can fix a few things for Minnesota. It’s not an easy job, that’s for sure. Rogers has had a time of it."

  "I wouldn’t know, to tell you the truth. I’m strictly a California boy. But I wish you the best of luck. I know Charlene thought a lot of you."

  "Charlene?"

  "MacKendall. My late partner."

  "Oh, yes! I’m sorry. I didn’t think of her by her first name. A tragedy, that. I only met her once or twice, toured the facility, you know, but she was a very nice girl. Worked hard for that place. Lord knows it’s been a help to the community."

  Only met her once.

  "You think so?"

  "Oh, absolutely. A lot of young people have been helped out of terrible situations. At least that’s what I’ve heard."

  "Well, good. That’s what she wanted. That, and a child of her own. Did you know she was pregnant at the time of the crash?"

  "Yes, I remember something about that from the news. An awful shame."

  "My wife and I are trying to adopt the child."

  "Oh?" Conway looked up, and then his gaze drifted to his telephone as if he expected it to ring. "Well, that’s… that’s very noble."

  "Well, technically, he is my wife’s nephew. It’s a family thing. But I guess there’s some hang up with the biological father." Dane watched closely for Conway’s reaction, however, the politician only stood and picked up his Daytimer from the desk. Clearly, the interview was coming to an end. Dane wasn’t sure what to think.

  "It’s been a real pleasure, Mr. Pierce. I’d like to talk with you some more, but I’m late for a meeting. I thank you for your support, and for taking the time to stop by."

  "I’ll be in touch, Mr. Conway. You can count on it."

  ~ * ~

  "When are you coming home?" Jessica asked, her voice tinged with what sounded to Dane like a touch of self-pity.

  "In a few days. I have some business in L.A."

  "What kind of business?"

  "My physical, for one thing. I’ll stop in on Brady Stern, and Woody wants me to meet with Reiner about that pilot flick. Can you spare me for a bit?"

  "If I have to."

  Now, she did have a decided pout in her tone. Dane took a deep breath. "I’m sorry, Sweetie."

  "Did you hear anything more from those jerks at the adoption office?"

  "We won’t hear anything more from them, Jess. We need to create a little stir of some kind. I’ll see what Brady says, okay?"

  "Okay. I miss you."

  "Miss you too. Take care."

  ~ * ~

  Irma Carvey dropped her office keys into the white letter envelope and sealed it, then placed the envelope squarely in the center of her bare desk. No one had been surprised or moved in any way by her sudden resignation. Now, only the short drive to the Bandorfs’ house stood between her and her new "son," Bailey. She’d never liked the name Chester.

  Mrs. Bandorf had been crying. "We bought him this new little Vikings shirt for a going-away gift," she said, dabbing at the corner of her eye.

  "It’s cute. Now, if you’ll just help me get his bags into my car, I can get on my way to his new parents. They are so anxious."

  "They should be. He’s just a… a joy," Mr. Bandorf said, taking a suitcase in each hand and brushing past Irma, who was bouncing young Chester in her arms.

  "Now, now, don’t let him see you upset. You knew, as foster parents, this would eventually happen. Don�
�t spoil things for him. Children are very receptive."

  "It’s just that… that we did apply, you know… I still don’t know why we were turned down. We’ve had him since he was born. He’s like a part of us now," Mrs. Bandorf lamented. "I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll be fine."

  "It’s too bad, Mrs. Bandorf. I’m sure you’re quite qualified. For whatever reason, the new parents were more qualified. I’m sorry. Truly. Now, I’ll be on my way. I wish you the best of luck."

  Irma could see the Bandorfs embracing in their driveway as she drove away. "A shame, really. Oh well."

  With her kidnapped orphan just beginning to whimper in the backseat, Irma Carvey got on the Interstate and headed north.

  ~ * ~

  Jessica hung up the phone. Dane hadn’t answered at the house in Malibu, and his cell phone was never turned on. The weather was warm, the children were romping outside; she had long stopped worrying about their every move, lulled into complacency by the tranquil peace of the ranch and surrounding wilderness. She roamed the house, bored, discontent and with growing anxiety. She really did miss Dane, and felt slighted by his going to Los Angeles instead of coming home.

  It was with this thought in mind that she leaped for the phone when it rang. Roxanne’s voice on the line was more than just surprising.

  "Have you got a minute?"

  "More than a minute. What’s up?"

  "I’m calling to say I’m sorry."

  Jessica felt her cheeks grow warm. She could barely believe her ears, and was preparing an exoneration for her friend when Roxanne continued.

  "I can’t keep it inside any longer. He’s no good for you, he never has been, he’s never done anything but hurt you. I’m sorry, Jess, but I need to tell what I know, and I hate that it will upset you but it’s for the best."

  "What are you talking about? Who’s hurt me?" Alarms began going off in Jessica’s head. She already knew what Roxanne would say.

  "Dane Pierce. He’s not a good person. You can’t see that, but you don’t know what I know. You obviously haven’t read what I’ve read. Mac was a good man, and he deserves justice. So, I’m sorry. It… has to be done." Roxanne’s voice diminished with her last few words, and the next sound Jessica heard was the dial tone.