“One minute,” Ben agreed.
“Wouldn’t want to keep you from nothing important. Lord knows, the road will be waiting on you tomorrow. You’ll be at the state border by lunch and out of New England by nightfall. A few minutes of your time won’t hurt.”
Muttering to himself, Fred walked Ben out to the fenced pasture where the cows had broken loose, Homer among them, and trampled scores of healthy plants.
Fred lifted a broken gate. “Thought you might want a look.” He handed the metal hinge to Ben. Several screws had been removed, the rest loosened. “Looks like someone went to a mighty lot of trouble to cause mischief.”
“Isn’t that a bit extreme, even for Drew?”
“Probably didn’t mean no harm, just a bit of mischief. I don’t suppose Drew had any way of knowing we were moving Homer today, or that his own brother would get hurt.”
Ben’s face tightened. “What’s his motive?”
“It’s no secret Ira’s finances are in bad shape,” Fred said shrewdly. “Looks like Drew wants to get his hands on Stone’s End by fair means or foul.”
“Meaning?” Ben said impatiently.
“Them cows did some heavy crop damage here today. Ira’s hurting for cash. Last I heard, the Pierces still want logging rights. Maybe Drew figures he can force the issue and make a deal with Ira. Maybe he wants to buy Stone’s End, since Jessie’s not interested in a wedding—leastways, not yet.”
Not yet.
The words sounded ominous to Ben. For a man who didn’t want involvement, he’d landed himself in it when he came to Stone’s End. It was high time he took himself off, away from the temptation to stay and fix things. Hadn’t he proved he was no good at looking out for anyone but himself?
“Look, I just quit.” Ben handed the broken hinge back. “You’ll have to warn my replacement to watch out for Drew Pierce. Ramon would be a good choice. He’s a good man. He’s reliable and seems to know his way around a farm.”
Fred glowered at him. “You’re actually quitting? Leaving Jessie high and dry? Well, ain’t that just fine!”
“I don’t owe the Carlisles a damn thing.”
“Course not,” Fred said sarcastically.
“I earned my pay. I don’t owe them.”
“Who you trying to convince?”
Ben didn’t respond. He was leaving. Absolutely nothing was going to stop him from shaking the dust from Stone’s End.
That evening, Jessie served tomatoes at supper.
Ben stared at them. Damned if she didn’t know how to turn the screws and make him feel guilty! She’d even started his laundry. The clothes dryer hummed in the background. Ben felt like a kid going off to summer camp— instead of a man running out on a woman. He felt guilty about leaving her. But he wasn’t leaving her; he was leaving Stone’s End. At the moment, he just couldn’t distinguish between the two. Jessie was part of it—part of what had kept him here against his better judgment far longer than he’d intended; part of what was driving him away.
Ben looked around. “Where’s Ira?”
“He insisted on a tray in his room.” Jessie’s eyes looked troubled. “I hope he’s feeling all right.”
Ben felt guilty. Nevertheless, he was relieved not to have to face the old man again. He didn’t want another argument; he just wanted to be free. “How’s Cal doing?” He latched on to the neutral topic.
“Fine. His mother was more upset then he was.”
“I can imagine.”
Jessie smiled slightly. “Cal will just have to put up with some pampering.” Her polite conversation was served up along with Ben’s favorite chicken and dumplings.
When she served blueberry tarts for dessert, he began to suspect she had a decidedly sadistic streak. “Sounds like he’ll make it” He stared at the dessert dish, unable to take a bite. The tomatoes had given him heartburn.
“Yes, he will.” Her voice trailed off.
The buzzer in the laundry room rang. Looking as relieved as he felt at the interruption, Jessie jumped up to take his shirts from the dryer. When she set up the ironing board, he exploded. “Leave the damn things!”
She threw him a wounded look. “All right.” She dropped his shirt into the wicker laundry basket. She took a deep breath and blurted out, “Must you go?”
“Yes.” The answer erupted. He stood just as abruptly. “I spoke to Fred about Ramon taking over my job. I think he’ll work out just fine.”
“So, you’ll be leaving with a clear conscience?”
“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t?”
“You tell me,” she challenged softly, yet challenged nevertheless. There was nothing spineless or evasive about Jessie; she demanded honesty from him, even if it hurt.
Respecting that about her, he didn’t cushion his words. “If we’re talking about what’s been going on between the two of us, Jessie, my leaving is for the best. You know I’m right. I’m not the man for you. We’d only wind up hurting each other.”
Sliding her hands into her jeans pockets, she threw him a disbelieving look. “Could I hurt you?”
“Yes, I believe you could.”
“I suppose I should thank you for that.” Jessie smiled slightly—a little cynically, he thought, which was something new for her. He hoped he hadn’t taught her that.
“Our relationship was a mistake from the beginning. It can’t go anywhere,” he said. “I’m sorry if you thought it meant something.”
She tilted her head to the side. “It didn’t?”
“No.”
“I see.” Her voice sounded brittle. “I didn’t realize you were playing games.”
“I wasn’t—That’s not how it was!” For one wild, insane moment, he considered asking her to come with him. But no, he couldn’t ask her to choose between him and Ira. Besides, what was he thinking? Marriage? He wasn’t ready for that. And Jessie wasn’t the sort to play around. She was a keeper. He couldn’t offer permanence, a home, children. How could he while his past haunted him?
He took a deep breath and released it. “Look, Jessie. Maybe I did feel something,” he admitted, then hastened to add, “but it’s not enough. In time, you’ll agree. It’s easy to confuse loneliness for something else, especially love. I could also make a clear-cut case of proximity.”
“Please don’t.” She folded the ironing board. “I think I’ve gotten the point. Since I won’t see you again, I just wanted to thank you for all you’ve done.”
What had he done? What sort of garbage had he spouted? He didn’t believe a word of his own trumped-up excuses. How could she?
But apparently she did. Ben ached to reach for her and erase her closed expression. Instead, he clamped his hands by his sides. “I never wanted it to be like this. A clean break will be best. I never wanted to hurt you. Can you believe that?”
“I know you never wanted to get involved.” She stored the ironing board in the laundry room, then returned. “Well, you’re perfectly free to leave. No one’s stopping you.”
With that, Jessie walked out.
Ben felt about as free as a tiger in a cage.
He ran a weary hand over his face, then around the back of his neck, where he could feel a knifelike tension. How had she guessed he planned to leave at dawn?
Hours later, Ben prepared to spend his final night under the Carlisle roof. The mourning sound of a bagpipe was the last sound he heard before a restless sleep claimed him.
Jessie heard Ben tossing and turning. Another restless night. She groaned and rolled over. Only tonight, there was another element. When he called out, a chill swept over her.
She heard the terror in his voice, sharper than ever before. She closed her eyes tight but couldn’t close out the memory of his reaction to Cal’s injuries that afternoon. Ben had been shaking, his face whiter than Cal’s. What devil drove him?
She bit her lip. She couldn’t care; she wouldn’t. Every instinct cried out for her to go to him. Yet, her common sense warned her to stay away. When he ca
lled out again, she buried her head in the pillow to drown out his tortured cry.
Her heart ached for him. His voice sounded muffled, then went silent. After a long moment, she lifted her head. Somehow, his silence only made it worse. What hell was he reliving? She’d seen it in his eyes. Suddenly she couldn’t bear the thought of Ben’s loneliness on this, his last night. Her motives for going to him were confused. He needed someone. Perhaps if he opened up and talked to her, he might stay. The thought was barely formed, but it was there. She shoved it to the back of her mind. Heart pounding, she tossed the covers aside.
Chapter Eight
The jungle was all around. At night the blackness was thick. Ben could feel the sweat on his face. He waited for death. Why did it take so long? Shadows moved at his bedside. Was he awake? Or dreaming? He ran a hand over his eyes. He’d never understood why he survived. For what? His soul was destroyed.
He demanded, “Who’s there?” The enemy—they crept up on you…took potshots. In a dreamlike state, his mind could absorb only distant memories, people and places existing only in his nightmares. What would it take to drive the demons away? He rubbed his eyes, pressing his thumbs to his temple, easing the pain there. When he searched the dimness, again he distinguished shadows near his bed. One took shape. A breeze came through the open window— something long and white fluttered. He flung out an arm and encountered something soft and warm.
“Ben!” a soft voice cried in shock.
“Go away.” His voice came out sharp, staccato and loud in the night. Like a gunshot. He lowered it to a rasp.
“Get out.”
Jessie whispered, “You’re having a nightmare.” She felt his hard fingers fasten on her arm, like manacles of steel.
“Who is it?” With a swift jerk, he pulled her into bed.
Landing on him, she felt winded. She placed a hand in the middle of his chest and pushed. It was like pushing a stone wall. Rigid with fear, she whispered urgently, “Let me go.” His lips grazed the side of her throat. She tossed her head, seeking escape. Letting out a breath, she expelled it in a shocked gasp when he jerked her bodily against him. His hard naked length pushed against her. His hold was hurting, crushing, as if he wanted to absorb her. He was out of his head. She’d never felt so terrifyingly helpless. She couldn’t tell where his breath ended and hers began. Each one hurt. Shallow, rapid bursts kept pace with her heart. She shook her head, unable to believe she’d been foolish enough to get caught in his nightmare.
Ben felt the brush of silken hair against his chest, like phantom fingers teasing him. He seized a fistful and held fast, urging her head down to meet his mouth. Pressing her mouth against his, he drank deeply. She opened when his tongue penetrated her lips and drove deep, exploring her mouth. When he released her on a long, drawn-out breath, his lips stroked down against the velvety smoothness of her throat. She tasted like honey, smooth and sweet, rolling smooth against his tongue.
“Isn’t this what you came for?” he rasped against her skin.
“Ben,” she pleaded, pushing ineffectually against his chest, denying him. Her body felt boneless, soft…
His teeth grazed her racing pulse. Releasing her arm, he swept his hand down her back, arching her to fit tightly against him. He eased her soft cry with another drugging kiss.
“Ben, it’s me,” she whispered. “It’s me, Jessie.”
He laughed softly, his laugh turning into a groan when her knee slipped between his. Her hip pressed against him, her thigh burned against his naked thigh. “I know very well it’s you, Jessie.” She fit him to perfection.
“You do?” Her voice trembled.
“Did you think I didn’t?” he taunted, suspecting she was pretending confusion. She was Ira’s daughter, all right—that sneaky, conniving cheat. If Jessie thought sacrificing herself was going to keep him here, she needed to be taught a lesson.
“You were dreaming. I thought you were asleep.”
“Jessie, I’d have to be drunk out of my head not to know you.” In the moonlight she glowed like a soft beacon, fixating his senses. His lips traced the narrow band of lace edging her gown and outlining the sweet, tantalizing curve of her breasts. Her skin felt dewy. Her cotton nightgown, not crisp but soft, was sprigged with blue flowers. How could he tell her how many times he’d imagined her like this, exactly like this? All he had to do was take her. Once and for all he would know her.
“You woke me,” she whispered, drawing in a long breath that had her pressing her breasts against his chest.
Why on earth was she whispering?
Ira.
Ben groaned. Her father was under the same roof. That was all he needed—Ira hearing a commotion and running to the rescue.
“How did I wake you?” he asked suspiciously.
“You were calling out, shouting.”
Ben closed his eyes. The nightmare.
“What’s wrong?” She brushed a hand against his brow, all sweet concern for him now. “Are you ill?”
Ben came back to the present with an unpleasant thud. Her gentleness was oddly comforting. He could feel the uneven beat of her heart against his. The weight of her burned through him, exploding any hope of denial that he was aroused. And they said women were the weaker sex, he thought ironically, cursing his masculine enslavement to the senses. Through the soft fabric of her nightgown, he could feel every curve and hollow of her woman’s body. He rolled onto his side and stared down at her moonshadowed slimness within the curve of his arm. With her light-colored hair spread across his pillow and her eyes dark with unwilling arousal, she tempted him. His imagination had him losing himself in the depths of her kiss, the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breast, the damp heat of her femininity. She was the perfect panacea for the pain in his head. Clutching at some sense of control, he latched on to his conscience. He couldn’t use this girl. His hold on her slackened by degrees.
He closed his eyes in agony. “If Ira catches you in here, there’ll be hell to pay.” Before he could change his mind, he released her. “Go, while you still can.”
Ben bit back a bitter laugh when she left.
In the morning, he was awake when he heard a knock on his bedroom door. He wrenched it open and stared down at Jessie’s ravaged face. He couldn’t believe she would swallow her pride to face him again. Why? “Jessie,” he said impatiently. “I don’t have time for this now. I have to finish packing.” He drew in a harsh breath when her lips trembled. “Don’t do this.”
He had to leave. For years, he’d been running from his past; now he was running from Jessie, from what she made him feel. If he stayed, he would have to face his demons, and he wasn’t ready for that. He didn’t know if he ever would be. Yet, he didn’t want to hurt her. Jessie’s eyes were shadowed with tension and fatigue.
“Let’s make this a clean break,” he said. “Last night, things got out of hand. Let’s not beat it into the ground.”
“But I…”
His mouth tightened. “Contrary to my behavior, I’m not interested in one-night stands or a quick easy lay!”
Already pale and drawn, she gasped, “Neither am I.”
“That’s all it could be for us. Jessie, I’m leaving!”
Recoiling as if he’d struck her, she shuddered. Then, as if fortifying herself for another blow, she said in a rush, “It’s my father. He’s had some sort of spell. It could be his heart. Please, will you help?” She turned, clearly expecting him to follow. For a moment, he couldn’t move. Ben stood as if he’d been mortally shot. If only he could take the words back…
When Ben got downstairs, he found Ira in an irascible mood. Apparently, he’d fallen when he tried to get out of bed. He’d knocked over a bedside stand. Ben righted it and replaced a lamp and two books—a worn Bible and a Farmer’s Almanac.
“I won’t go to the hospital!” Clad in his striped blue-and-white pajamas, Ira shook off Jessie’s hand.
“I called an ambulance. Dr. Peterson will be waiting.”
; “That old fool! What does he know? I’m feeling fine!”
“Then seeing him won’t do any harm.” Jessie slipped her arm around his shoulders. “You’re overdue for a checkup anyway. Let’s just get you back to bed.” Ben moved to help.
“I just had a dizzy spell, that’s all. Can’t a man have a moment’s peace?” Ira raged as Ben lifted him back into bed.
“Thank you,” Jessie said, not meeting Ben’s eyes.
“You can just go and cancel the ambulance,” her father snarled.
Ben shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re fired!”
Ben bit back a smile. “I already quit.”
Jessie fluffed the pillows. “Dad, please. You’re getting all riled up.”
“Man’s got a right to get riled.” Ira leaned back wearily, closed his eyes and groped against the bed linens for Jessie’s hand, clutching it until her fingers turned numb. “All this fuss over nothing!” His white hair stood in angry tufts.
Blinking back tears, Jessie smoothed it down. His hair had always been thick, curling naturally. When had it gone so thin? His pink scalp showed through, making him look frail. He’d always been so vain about his hair. “I love you, Dad.”
He squeezed her hand tighter. “Don’t go all weepy, Jessie, and tell Doc I’m not paying for his trip to Bermuda, neither.”
“He’s not going to Bermuda.”
“That’s what I just said.”
By the time the ambulance arrived, he’d tired himself and didn’t object too strongly when the medics lifted him inside.
“I’m going with him,” she insisted.
“Jessie.” Ben’s voice made her turn back before she climbed into the waiting ambulance. He touched the side of her face, his eyes filled with remorse. “Jessie, I…”
Jessie tilted her chin away from his touch. His hand fell to his side. She turned away, her composure a brittle shell.
Everything that could be said had been said; whatever had briefly flared between them was over. What could he add but goodbye? A word she couldn’t bear to hear. As the doors closed, she caught her last glimpse of Ben.
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