01 - The Heartbreaker

by Carly Phillips

  “I didn’t realize.” No one had given her his background or history and she hung on his every word.

  “No reason you should. I gave up those dreams when I gave up your mother. The day her father arrived, proof that my father was indebted to a loan shark in one hand and the solution in the other.”

  “What do you mean?” His last explanation had been in gruff Samson-speak. Sloane wanted to hear the truth now. All of it.

  And Samson seemed willing to provide the answers. “He offered me a check to pay the loan shark off. My father agreed to sign the house over to me if I took the deal. What could I do? My mother wouldn’t live in fear of losing the roof over her head anymore. My father wouldn’t have his kneecaps blown off.” He shook his head and let out a rough rumble that resembled a laugh.

  But Sloane didn’t find the story amusing and neither could he. “Nobody blows kneecaps off anymore,” she said.

  “No, they just blow up houses.” He lifted his gaze from the warped wood floor. “You grew up sheltered, thank God. That’s one of the reasons I took the money and let Jacqueline go. To protect her from my family and my life.”

  “Not to mention the fact that my grandfather made that one of his conditions, right? The money in exchange for letting Jacqueline go?” Sloane asked through gritted teeth.

  “As it turned out, it was an excellent deal for your mother. She had a wonderful life. Short as it was.”

  This conversation had turned more emotional than she’d planned. But Samson didn’t seem to be running away, so Sloane pressed her advantage. “How do you know Jacqueline wouldn’t have had a better life with you? The man she really loved?”

  Samson shrugged. “She didn’t have a choice and neither did I. Your grandfather made it clear that if he didn’t supply the funds to pay off the loan shark, my father would probably be found dead in an alley. The bank would take our house and we’d be out on the street.” He ran a hand through his already windblown hair. “Added to that, my mother had cancer. We couldn’t afford treatment and she was going downhill fast. I wanted to make her final days comfortable ones at least. I needed more money for that.”

  Sloane swallowed over the lump in her throat, unable to believe the painful saga he was revealing. “Please don’t tell me you told my grandfather about your mother’s illness and he used that as leverage.”

  Samson nodded. “He added to the check without blinking and told me to stay the hell away from Jacqueline. What else could I do except take it?” Samson rolled his shoulders in a nonchalant gesture, as if the story were old news, but the ravaged look in his eyes and his life history told her he’d never gotten over his decision.

  “You said earlier that you went back for Jacqueline, in a manner of speaking. What did you mean?” She wiggled her ice-cold fingers, trying to get the blood flowing again. Her entire body had grown cold.

  “At first I didn’t go back. Didn’t look in on her at all. I had my hands full with my mother’s illness and I needed every last penny your grandfather had given me. I couldn’t afford to rile him. And then my mother passed away.”

  “I’m sorry.” At the mention of a grandmother she’d never met, Sloane swiped at the tears falling from her eyes. So much of her life she’d never known about and would discover only second-hand.

  All because of one man’s selfish need to control everything around him. She wondered if her mother’s father ever had regrets for altering and playing with the lives of everyone around him.

  But nothing could change the facts, so she turned back to Samson. “So what happened then? Your mother was gone and your father—”

  He cleared his throat. “Had disappeared anyway. He wasn’t one for taking care of people, in sickness or in health. He bailed on my mother in her last days.”

  She opened her eyes wide. “He had a funny way of showing gratitude, considering what you’d done.”

  “He thought creating me meant I owed him.”

  She shook her head but knew words of sympathy would be meaningless. “So your parents were both gone. Why didn’t you go back for Jacqueline?”

  “Your grandfather was a senator and a very smart man. He made me sign a loan agreement. I had to take the bastard’s word that he wouldn’t come after me to pay him back. Unless I went after Jacqueline.” He shook his head, dejection and regret evident in the slump of his shoulders and the raw pain emanating from him in waves. Pain for things he’d done—and not done. “And let me tell you, that was one whopping sum of money I took. I wouldn’t have been able to pay it back in ten lifetimes.”

  Sloane exhaled, realizing for the first time her breath came out in visible puffs. Drat the open window, she thought, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. Not even her jacket made a difference now.

  “You need to know that money threats couldn’t have kept me away from Jacqueline.” Samson seemed focused on their conversation, oblivious to the chill. “But when I went to check on her, she was married. She looked happy and I knew she was well cared for. All things I couldn’t give her. Not anymore.” He, too, wiped his eyes with one sleeve. “So I came back home.”

  “And withdrew from life.” Sloane understood him now. Understood everything about him and why he’d turned into a recluse.

  “It was easier not to be around folks in this town.” He slashed his hand through the air, as if cutting people out of his life. “But they persisted. Pearl brought brownies by and Izzy and Norman sent food after my mother died. But I didn’t want their sympathy. And when polite manners didn’t do the trick, I started turning them away with gruff, rude talking.” He jutted out his chin. “It worked too. Pretty soon, everyone left me alone.”

  Despite the pride in his voice, Sloane sensed how false his words sounded, how hurt he must have been to have lost Jacqueline first, then his entire family.

  “You must have been lonely.” She tipped her head to one side, waiting for him to protest his independence and need for no one and nobody.

  The man was a recluse who didn’t want emotion given to him, nor did he desire to provide any in return. But his next words surprised her. “It was a life I wouldn’t wish on anybody,” he muttered, and stood pacing just past the window. “But I got by and I’m fine. Darned if I’m not.” He straightened his shoulders, ever the solitary man he presented to the outside world.

  “I know you’re fine, but at least admit you could be better.” Sloane followed his lead and rose to her knees, grateful for the excuse to move and get her circulation flowing again. “You’ve got family now and you’re stuck with me,” she said, echoing his earlier words.

  He would learn Sloane Carlisle wasn’t a woman easily deterred. Samson might not want tender emotion, but he was going to get some anyway. Sloane was his daughter, the only flesh-and-blood person he was connected to in this world. It was time he acknowledged her in an embrace. And she intended to enjoy her first real father-daughter hug.

  Standing, she moved forward, past the open window, and turned to reach for Samson at the same moment a loud noise sounded from outside and a burning sensation seared through her left shoulder. The impact propelled her against the wall as she cried out in surprise. She grabbed for her shoulder while white flashes and bursts of light circled around her.

  “Damn, girl.” Samson reached for her, easing her to a sitting position before kneeling beside her. “Easy.” He moved her hand so he could check her shoulder.

  Sloane glanced down. Was that her blood on her hands?

  “You’ve been shot,” Samson said in a shaking voice.

  Sloane’s vision blurred badly. She thought Samson was pulling off his jacket. Thought he muttered, “Gotta stop the bleeding.” She couldn’t be sure.

  But when he put pressure against her shoulder with that jacket, a searing, burning, unbearable pain shot straight through to her heart. She rolled her head to one side and shut her eyes to escape the agony, but there was no getting away from her own body.

  Other outside noises intruded. . . . Footsteps, ma
ybe? Voices, definitely. Without a doubt, she heard Samson speaking. She wished Chase were beside her, doing his white-knight bit, but he was with his family. His primary obligation. She’d walked out of his life. Or had he walked out of hers? Nausea threatened to overwhelm her along with the disorienting sensation of losing her balance.

  Go with it, she told herself. If she did, she’d escape the pain and nothing mattered more, she thought as she allowed herself to fall into the oblivion that beckoned.

  “You should have let me drive,” Chase muttered.

  “You’re too upset,” Rick said, slowing down for a yield sign.

  He glared at Rick, who, after hearing Samson had disappeared, had snatched his car keys and ordered his brothers around like the cop he was. He didn’t want the man wandering around town alone, unprotected.

  He hadn’t turned on Chase for not going after Sloane when he had the chance, but that was fine since Chase had enough self-recrimination without his brother’s lecture. His gut feeling told him father and daughter were together and the end result couldn’t be good.

  “Step on it, will you?” he told his brother.

  Rick ignored him, while Roman reached out from the back-seat and put one hand on Chase’s shoulder for support. “We’ll be at the McKeevers’ house soon enough.”

  The old tree house, where Sloane had met Samson for the first time, was the only place Chase could think of that Sloane would go to be alone. Lord knew she wouldn’t return to Chase’s house. He’d done his best to freeze her out and drive her far away from him.

  Damn.

  Finally, after what seemed like half an hour but in reality wasn’t more than five minutes, Rick pulled up to the curb in front of the sprawling Colonial. No car in the driveway told him the McKeevers still weren’t home, which he’d figured since they hadn’t answered the phone when Chase had called from the car on the way over.

  “We could be panicking for nothing,” Roman said in an obvious attempt to reassure Chase.

  “Yeah, I’d like to hear you say that if it were Charlotte we were looking for.”

  Roman scowled at him. “Don’t go borrowing trouble.”

  Chase jumped out of the car before Rick even shut the ignition. He took off toward the backyard, rounding the house with his brothers not far behind. His blood pounded in his ears and his mouth ran dry. He didn’t know what he’d find and didn’t care if he barged in on Sloane like a crazy man, only to find her alone in the old tree house. Just so long as she was okay.

  Dried leaves crunched beneath his feet, making more noise than he’d like and probably announcing his approach, but there was nothing he could do about it now. An indecipherable, muffled noise sounded from nearby and Chase came to a halt alongside a large blue spruce, his instincts suddenly telling him to tread cautiously.

  “What’s wrong?” Rick whispered.

  Chase shrugged. “I don’t know. Something just seems off.”

  Rick motioned for Chase to remain where he was. “I’m going to approach from behind,” he said, gun in hand, as he pointed with his other hand to the tree house and the lone window visible from a distance.

  Without warning, a solitary figure broke the silence and ran through the trees, crunching leaves in his wake. At the same time, Samson stuck his head out the window. “Call 911,” he yelled at them.

  “I’ve got it,” Roman said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket at the same time Rick ran after the escapee.

  Chase took off for the tree house, panic engulfing him. He didn’t remember climbing the stairs, but he was damn well aware of easing himself into the old structure and seeing Sloane passed out cold on the floor. Blood seeped through Samson’s old jacket, which now acted as part tourniquet, part bandage, to stem the blood flow.

  His gut clenched and fear struck a blow to his heart, his pulse pounding with racing speed. “Rick called for an ambulance,” Chase told Samson before kneeling beside Sloane and taking her ice-cold hand into his own.

  A distraught-looking Samson paced the floors, muttering to himself.

  “What happened?” Chase managed to ask, though his mouth had grown dry as cotton.

  “What does it look like, genius?” Samson aimed a scowl Chase’s way. “We don’t need you here.”

  “That’s a point I’m not going to debate now. What happened? Besides the obvious, I mean,” he asked again, impatience in his tone and anger in his blood. Anger at himself and at fate for taking advantage of his own stupidity for leaving Sloane alone.

  Samson ran a weary hand over his eyes, and for the first time, Chase felt sorry for the man who was obviously suffering as much as he.

  “I came to find my daughter,” Samson said. “She’d been here awhile, but whoever shot at me didn’t know that because they’d probably been following only me.”

  Chase swept a strand of hair out of Sloane’s face, concerned when she didn’t flinch. Without turning to look at Samson again, he asked, “Is this a guess, or do you know for a fact you were followed?”

  “I know.” The old man turned a deep crimson shade. “Someone’s been after me, hanging around, watching my movements.”

  Chase gritted his teeth, fear consuming him as he looked once more at Sloane’s pale face and cataloged her lack of response to anything, including him squeezing her hand or whispering in her ear. “Any reason you didn’t report this to the police? Or at the very least tell Rick earlier today?” Chase raised an eyebrow in question.

  “I don’t trust nobody. I thought I covered my tracks coming here. You didn’t know I’d gone. Least not right away.” Samson raised his chin in a gesture of defiance that didn’t fool Chase.

  Not when his eyes were damp and his mouth trembled when not arguing his point. The man was near to a breakdown with guilt and concern, and though Chase wanted to lace into him, Chase agreed he bore much of the same blame.

  They’d both failed Sloane. “Listen, man. Maybe it’s time you start trusting, before she suffers even more.”

  Samson snorted, his sarcasm obvious. “As if you’re an expert.”

  Blessedly, ambulance sirens sounded in the distance, growing closer and preventing the argument from escalating. It wouldn’t do Sloane any good, and if Rick caught the shooter, not much else mattered, Chase thought.

  Except Sloane, the woman he loved. And the one he might lose, if she lost any more blood. He ran a shaking hand down her cheek, trying not to look at the patch of red seeping through the old jacket. It looked like so much blood. And she was still unconscious, he thought, fear lodging in his throat. The overwhelming panic hadn’t left him since he’d realized Sloane was with Samson, and had only magnified with each passing minute.

  Because he’d left her alone, putting her in harm’s way, he might not have the chance to tell her that he was sorry. That he really did love her. That he didn’t want to lose her.

  Yet, what did that mean for the future he’d envisioned? The one without family or responsibilities. He shook his head, his own desires mocking him, as his mother provided enough responsibility and would continue to, even if she married Eric. Old habits died hard. He’d never be completely free of his responsibilities.

  Nor, he was coming to realize, did he want to be. The one thing he didn’t want was to end up old and alone. And if Sloane died, that’s exactly where he would be.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A shoulder wound. The bullet had passed clean through, or at least that’s what Chase thought he heard an emergency-room doctor say. Needing confirmation, he walked over to a fresh-out-of-med-school-looking guy and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me. I need to see Sloane Carlisle.”

  “She’s with the doctor,” he said without glancing up.

  But that doctor wasn’t Eric, Chase thought, because he hadn’t arrived yet. “How is she? Last time I saw her, she was unconscious and there was too much blood.” He involuntarily trembled at the memory.

  “Are you family?” the guy in green scrubs asked, barely glancing up from his cha
rt. “Because I can release patient details only to family.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m family,” Chase muttered, the lie slipping too easily off his tongue.

  In reality, he had no claim on Sloane other than a sudden overwhelming desire to possess her as his own, and to never let go.

  “You’re her . . . brother?” the young resident asked, hazarding a guess as he finally looked up.

  Stupidly, Chase shook his head no because he wanted to say he was her husband. He couldn’t. There were too many people in this hospital who knew him, knew his background, knew how proudly he’d always touted his bachelor status. Especially once he’d become the last remaining single Chandler man.

  The resident met Chase’s gaze, compassion filling his eyes. “Okay, buddy, you want to get in to see your girlfriend. I get it. But not until she’s conscious and can okay your visit.” He patted Chase’s shoulder in what must be his best practiced bedside manner. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” Chase turned away, pissed at the other man but mostly pissed at himself.

  As a journalist, he’d often fudged his status to get closer to a story, admittedly not possible that often in a town that knew everyone’s business. But he’d had no compunction doing it when he could. Yet with Sloane lying in the other room, her status unknown, he could barely think enough to hold himself together and get in to see her. Some hotshot reporter he turned out to be, unable to get near the most important person in his life.

  His heart was pounding double time and adrenaline raced through his veins, making him forget common sense and reason. Which cemented his feelings. As if he’d had any doubt. He didn’t. Not anymore. He had no doubt about how he felt and what he wanted—Sloane, in his life forever. But he’d start with seeing her open those gorgeous eyes.

  Glancing at the clock, he realized only ten minutes had passed since he’d followed the ambulance to the hospital, feeling useless and more frightened than he ever remembered being. Including when he’d been eighteen and his father had passed away, leaving him as the man of the house and completely unprepared for all that status had entailed.