Tony’s worried face smoothed with relief. “I will. Aileen’s looking for work. Once she finds something, I can pay it all back.”
Aileen finding a job wasn’t going to solve Tony’s problems, but Damon kept his opinions to himself. He liked Tony’s wife. A lot. But sooner or later, no doubt once she found work, she’d figure out that Tony wasn’t ready for a wife and family. Maybe she already had.
He gave Tony the money and watched his meal and entertainment budget for the next two weeks walk out the door. His friend hadn’t even offered to lend him a hand in exchange.
Damon was too soft a touch. He knew it, his friends knew it, and so did his own family—although he didn’t keep accounts on them. His brother and sister weren’t irresponsible in the same way Tony was. They were just young.
Jess’s lovely face popped into his head and just like that, he had a place to channel his frustration. She’d never explained why she’d run off and left him, bare-assed and bootless, stranded in the middle of the night, having to hitch a ride home with two old men who couldn’t stop laughing. She’d never apologized, either. He’d been the brunt of the town’s jokes for months. Years, in fact.
And what had he done?
He’d kept her identity to himself so she wouldn’t end up in trouble with her parents for getting naked with a boy they hadn’t approved of. Besides, their disapproval was the only reason she’d gone out with him in the first place. He’d known it.
He picked up the ratchet and prepared to get back to work. Outside the open bay doors, the sky’s rain spigot opened wide. Deafening sheets of water drummed off the steel roof and the pavement. His short burst of anger faded away. If he was going to be mad at anyone for taking advantage of him, he’d be mad at himself. He wasn’t blaming others because he couldn’t say no.
But this was it. No more Mister Nice Guy. The next time someone wanted money from him, they’d have to earn it.
Chapter Two
‡
Jess parked at the side of the house. She didn’t get out of the car, but took a few minutes to gather her courage.
She loved her grandfather. He loved her, too. But he could hold a grudge, and he’d been as angry as her parents about her relationship with a man almost fifty years her senior. None of them could understand that it had been about far more than money and sex.
She’d loved John. With all her heart. He’d come into her life at a time when it was falling to pieces and a friendship had formed. He’d been a young soul who’d worked hard his entire life to build a legacy for his ungrateful children. All he’d wanted from her was someone to share his adventures with, and who’d help make up for the youth he’d let pass him by. Her grandfather, of all people, should understand that. He’d made sacrifices for his children too, and her mother hadn’t been a very good daughter to him.
She hadn’t been a very good mother, either.
Now Jess was all alone in the world, and John, who hadn’t foreseen a heart attack and dying in his sleep, who’d barely begun to enjoy life, had never gotten around to changing his will to include her. She’d been left with nothing but the expensive clothes he’d showered on her, because gifts were his way of expressing affection, as well as a little cash, and a few pieces of jewelry that hadn’t been stored in a safety deposit box. If she’d married him like he wanted, circumstances would be different. But she hadn’t and they weren’t.
She popped open the car door, giving it a nudge with her shoulder. The sun peeked through the clouds as she stepped out. She smoothed her skirt, took a deep breath, and climbed the front steps. She knocked.
Now that the moment was here, she had no idea what to say.
She heard footsteps. The door opened. Her scraps of courage crumbled to dust. She wanted to throw herself into her grandfather’s arms and burst into tears, but she held back to see what kind of reception she’d be receiving.
At seventy-seven, Nathan Jackson was still a handsome man. Tall, fit, and lean in an aging cowboy, Jack Palance way. It had been almost eight years since she’d last seen him though, and time had taken its toll. He was more stooped in the shoulders and his movements had stiffened.
His expression never changed when he saw who was at his door. He showed not even a hint of surprise. “I read the obituary. Your mother sent it to me. I was wondering when you’d show up.”
When, not if. Resentment swelled. He thought he knew her so well.
Perhaps he did, because she was here.
She felt her lips tremble and forced them to stop. Her emotions had been on a roller coaster for days. She’d never admit to anyone how scared she was. How alone. She had a little pride left. John’s sons hadn’t shredded it all.
“Can I come in?” she asked.
Her grandfather’s eyes softened. “Always.” He swung the door open wide. “But you’re damned well going to listen to what I have to say.”
She’d expected as much. “I see nothing’s changed, then.”
His bullet-gray eyebrows descended into a glower. “Where’s your suitcase?”
“In the car.”
He glanced past her, finally noticing the junker in his yard that was crammed full of…well, everything. His jaw slackened. “Good God.” He looked at her. “How can one bitty little woman like you own so many clothes?”
His shock made her smile. She shrugged. “I like pretty things.”
“I see nothing’s changed with you, either.”
Her smile faded. Yes, it had. Her best friend was dead. A little sympathy and understanding would be nice. So far, not a single person had offered her their condolences. She didn’t care about the clothes, even though they were pretty.
She’d cared about John.
“And I’m guessing,” her grandfather continued, his gaze sharp and assessing, “since it appears you brought everything you own, that you’ve got nowhere else to go.”
“I came to the one person I knew I could count on,” she admitted. There was no point in denying it. Not when she planned to ask him for money.
“We’d best take this conversation inside.”
She crossed the threshold. Her grandfather’s house was filled with so many memories. There was the wide oak bannister she and her cousins took turns sliding down on family Christmas Eve parties. One year she’d split her lip on the stair post at the end. Her mother had panicked because it might leave a scar, and she couldn’t have that.
At the end of the cherry harvest, her grandfather would host a huge barbecue and all of the workers were invited. The house was open to everyone. The original home had been added onto over the years as the family and business had grown, and upstairs, in the bedrooms, were all sorts of hidden nooks and crannies. Closets opened into cubbyholes and built-in drawers that were just the right size to hide little girls.
She followed her grandfather past a formal front room he rarely used down a hall lined with family portraits to the homey, country kitchen. He’d put in a new stove—stainless steel, top-of-the-line. That was one of the many little quirks about him that had driven her mother and grandmother crazy, but Jess found endearing. He’d buy the best of anything he needed but it would never occur to him to update all of the appliances so they would match.
“Have a seat.” He pointed to a stool at the granite island, then went to the sink to fill an electric kettle. He fussed around with cups and saucers while he made tea, a ritual she knew it was best not to disturb. He liked to putter while he was thinking.
The thin porcelain cup rattled in its pretty, flowered saucer as he set her tea in front of her. He eased into a rocker by one of the tall windows so that he faced her, then got straight to the point.
“I take it you no longer have a place to live. I’m fairly certain you don’t have a job, either. At least not last I heard.” He stared at her over the rim of his cup as he blew on his tea, his eyes thoughtful. “You’re going to need money, aren’t you, Bomb?”
That was what he called her whenever she got in trouble and he had
to come to her rescue—Cherry Bomb. If she’d had real friends in Cherry Lake it might have stuck. Fortunately, nobody called her that but him.
And when he did, it usually meant all was forgiven.
Something snapped inside her. She didn’t want to be forgiven for loving somebody who deserved to be loved. She’d done nothing wrong. This time, in this one instance, she’d done everything right.
Although granted, it hadn’t worked out so well for her in the end.
“I am.” She took a deep breath. This was going to sound crass, even for her, but there was no right way to put it. “I know you don’t like to play favorites. But I have a proposition. If you were to give me my inheritance early, you wouldn’t be giving me anything you weren’t already planning on. Plus, you’d get to see how I spend it.”
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t say no right away, either. That meant he was willing to consider it. Mentally, Jess crossed her fingers.
He took a sip of his tea, cradling the delicate cup in gnarled hands. “That’s the whole beauty of not giving it out until after I’m dead. I don’t want to know what my family does with it. I’d hoped not to have to see my hard-earned money go to waste.”
That stung. What was worse, it held a nugget of truth. Jess had failed as an actress. She couldn’t read well enough to follow a script for auditions, especially under duress. John had helped her memorize things as much as he could, but at the end of the day, memorizing wasn’t enough to get her foot in the door. She was too short and curvy to be a model. She’d applied for secretarial work but couldn’t pass the competency tests. At a few months shy of her twenty-eighth birthday, she wasn’t qualified to do anything in terms of supporting herself. If her grandfather did give her the money, how long could she reasonably expect it to last?
“I’d invest a good part of it. You could help me.”
He was shaking his head. “The thing about handouts, Bomb, is that they can create boatloads of hard feelings. If I give the money to you straight up, it’s yours. No strings attached.” His forehead crinkled. “I’ll help you out. I’d do it for any of my grandchildren.” His next words, however, dammed her flood of relief. “That means the strings will come first. Before I give you your inheritance, you’ll have to prove to me you can look after it. I want you to spend six gainfully employed months in Cherry Lake. Prove to me you can be self-sufficient. The clock starts ticking once you find yourself a job.” He held up a hand to stop her from interrupting and she buttoned her lip. “The economy’s tight everywhere. As long as it’s gainful employment it doesn’t have to pay a whole lot. I’ll spot you your living expenses at least until you get on your feet. I’ll take it out of what your mother has coming to her.” He smiled a little, as if the thought pleased him. No doubt it did. “But I earned my money the hard way. It won’t hurt you to work for it, too. And no relying on family,” he added. “You can’t ask your uncles for work in the cherry orchards. Nepotism won’t teach you self-respect.”
She hid her dismay. Six months in Cherry Lake…And that was after she found a job. She had no marketable skills. Who but her uncles would want to hire her? And if someone did, how long would it take for them to find out that, unlike her cousin Carrie, she wasn’t very smart?
It was as if her grandfather was reading her mind, but not quite grasping the content. “You’ve always gotten by on your looks, Bomb. You aren’t going to be young and pretty forever. You shouldn’t be relying on old men to take care of you.”
There it was. The strings he was setting weren’t about her inability to handle money. They were about her relationship with John. No one was ever going to believe that she’d loved him, or that he’d loved her, too.
At least her grandfather’s offer, and her supply of high-end designer clothing, would buy her some time. She really did have to get her life back in order, and six months with a roof over her head was a far better option than life under a bridge.
Damon Brand’s face flashed into her thoughts. He hadn’t been openly hostile, and he had more reason to hate her than anyone. Maybe she wouldn’t have such a hard time finding a job, especially since it didn’t have to be fancy.
She slid off her stool and crossed to her grandfather’s chair. She bent to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t need men to take care of me. I’ve got you.”
*
She had blisters.
Jess slid onto a bench in one of the Cherry Pit Diner’s red vinyl booths, and under the Formica table, kicked off her high heels. Her throbbing toes and raw skin thanked her as she ordered a coffee.
While she hadn’t expected the job hunt to be easy, and it was too soon to be discouraged, the reality was far worse than expected.
First thing that morning, she’d driven to a consignment store in Polson on the last of her gas. She’d considered it a test run, and therefore, only took a few things with her so she could learn the ins and outs of bargaining. Her plan was to try out three different stores and compare the experiences. The little she’d gotten for her barely worn clothing and shoes made her want to curl up in a ball of despair. At least it was enough to pay for lunch without having to count out the pennies. She’d also bought some jeans and t-shirts, and a pair of sneakers. She planned to fill her gas tank later on, too.
After lunch, she’d headed back to Cherry Lake and begun knocking on doors. The Montreau Hotel had seemed like a good place to start. Big, elegant, and under renovation, it housed the most upscale restaurant in Cherry Lake. She’d eaten there many times over the years. Waitressing in it for six months wouldn’t be a hardship. The menu had limited options and her memory was excellent. Jess toyed with the napkin dispenser. It turned out the current manager’s memory was pretty good, too. She’d tried out for cheerleading with Jess. Jess had made fun of her weight in front of a few boys from the football team.
But Shanda White’s memory was hardly perfect. She’d forgotten how she’d mocked Jess in English class when Jess stumbled over an oral assignment and mangled a simple pronunciation—maybe because Jess had laughed along with everyone else. Her insides, however, had glowed red-hot with shame. She’d hated that class.
In Shanda’s defense, Jess could look back and admit that making fun of her heavy thighs at cheerleading tryouts in retaliation was a bit like kicking a dog for a transgression committed two days before. Neither one could figure out what they’d done to deserve it. So this time, Jess had gone out of her way to be friendly.
While Shanda, who still had fat legs and no sense of style, had taken far too much pleasure in telling her the restaurant was looking for staff with prior experience.
Now here Jess sat, in the sunny Cherry Pit Diner—a place she’d never entered in all her eighteen years of living here because her mother said it was “common”—nursing bruised feelings and sore feet. The dinner crowd was beginning to arrive and she was taking up valuable real estate. She’d finish her drink, then fill up her gas tank and head back to her grandfather’s.
And she resolved to be cheery when she reported her day. I’m an actress. I’m an actress. That was her mantra. She had food, clothing, and shelter. What more could she ask for?
The bell over the door tinkled. She glanced up automatically just as Damon walked in.
He wasn’t wearing coveralls today, but instead, a sky blue Henley the color of his eyes that showed off every ripped muscle in his broad upper torso. A faded pair of jeans cuddled his thighs. He hadn’t looked like this back in high school.
And he’d already been impressive enough.
She sank lower in her seat, her heart beating too hard, hoping to go unnoticed. She couldn’t say why. Their first awkward meeting was over. It was nothing to her one way or the other if he spotted her now.
Except she’d dealt with enough of her past for one day.
His eyes skimmed over her, paused for a second, then moved on as if her presence weren’t worth registering. He strode to the lunch counter, where the stools were filling up fast.
“A coff
ee to go,” she heard him say to the pretty waitress behind the counter as he handed her a stainless steel travel mug and a smooth, sexy grin.
Mercy.
That male self-assurance was new. While the Damon she’d known had been well aware of the attention girls gave him, this older, more mature version seemed to know what to do with it. She wondered if he was married. He worked with his hands so the absence of a ring was no real indication. Judging by the waitress’s flirty smile in return, and the way she blushed, Jess would have to guess no. Not that it mattered.
He took the full travel mug from the girl and slid two one-dollar bills across the counter. Then he started for the door. Jess began to breathe easier. Halfway across the room, he suddenly changed direction and headed straight for her booth.
Just like that, she was back in Grade Twelve and the most popular boy in school was paying attention to her. Unfortunately, she’d been the mean girl.
“I see you’re still in town.” He looked at the empty seats around her. “And you’re meeting up with all your old friends.”
It was hard to take offense with his blue eyes sparkling at her that way. He was trying to be funny, not unkind.
That had been her department, not his.
“Now that you’ve shown up, it’s like a high school reunion,” she said.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Is this the part where we’re supposed to comment on how much we’ve both changed?”
She rolled the half-empty coffee cup around in her hands. One thing was definitely different about him. He didn’t look at her the same way, anymore. There was no real warmth in those eyes. No sincere admiration. Ten years ago she’d taken him and his friendship for granted. She hadn’t deserved him, and he had to know it. So why had he stopped at her table?
Because, in spite of everything, he felt sorry for her?
Heat clawed at her cheeks. She didn’t want pity.
“I doubt you’ve changed all that much.” She hadn’t meant for that to sound so…abrasive, but polite chitchat wasn’t really her strength. She scrambled to soften her words. “There wasn’t much about you that required any changing.”
Her Secret Love Page 2