Pulling his keys from his pocket, he started to turn toward the truck’s door, and froze a moment, staring past her shoulder. Staring at something farther down the quiet residential street.
She heard the approaching engine and got a single glimpse a split second before he shouted, “Jessie!” Reaching out to grab her, he slung her down to the hard concrete.
She heard the shots an instant later, a feeling of déjà vu rising in her throat like bile as she rolled over. Rolled over to see Zach lying just behind her, streams of blood pouring down the driveway, running toward the gutter. Blood from the body he had used to shield her own.
Chapter 20
Every time he opened his eyes, Zach saw Jessie, waiting. Standing by the window of the hospital room or sitting by his bedside, her face a mask of anxiety. As much pain as he was in, he wanted to tell her not to worry. Wanted to assure her he was too tough to let a couple of bullets keep him from her.
Speaking, however, was an issue, partly because it sent pain shooting from his injured neck and shoulder and partly because of the morphine he’d been given to float him past the worst hours. Or days, most likely, maybe even longer, he thought as he remembered the glimpses he’d had of his mother. Eden, too, once, shoving a picture his way that had dusted his bandages with sparkles.
But Jessie was the one constant, his touchstone with a world he was struggling to fight his way back into.
Cool and shaky, her fingers slid along the stubble of his cheek and she repeated the words he’d seen her mouth form at least a dozen times before. Only this time, he understood her.
“I’m so sorry, Zach. So sorry. This is all my fault.”
He tried to shake his head, then gritted his teeth at the pain. But he fought past the blackness threatening to overwhelm him, fought to form words. “Not. Not your fault.”
“You—you’re speaking.” She sighed, relief easing the strain on her face. “Thank God. Thank God. Would you like— Could you drink some water? Your throat might still be sore, but—”
He nodded, abruptly aware that his mouth was dry as sand. When she brought the straw to his lips, he had never tasted anything sweeter or more refreshing. But sore was a long way from how he’d describe the tearing agony of swallowing that first mouthful.
He choked, which made things worse, but Jessie adjusted the bed’s elevation, and he did better after that. After only a few more sips, she took the cup away. When he reached for it again, she grasped his hand and shook her head.
“Not too much, too fast. Okay?” she said. “If you keep it down, the nurse told me I could let you have more in a few minutes.”
“Thanks,” he told her, his voice sounding less like a stranger’s than when he’d first spoke. “How—how long? What day is it?”
“It’s Friday, Zach. You’ve lost a whole week.” Her thumb glided over the rough bumps of his knuckles, a simple, soothing touch that seemed as necessary to sustain life as the water. “After your surgery, the doctors thought it best to keep you sedated. But you’ve turned the corner, finally. You’re going to make it home.”
As his eyes focused, he noticed the scrapes along the side of her arm. “Hurt?” he asked. “You weren’t sh-shot?”
“Thanks to you, I wasn’t. But you were, instead. The same way Eden might have been if she’d been standing out there with me.”
He squinted, trying to make sense of it.
“Canter may be a big jerk, worried enough about that big donation your mother promised his department to arrest me, but he was right about this,” Jessie told him. “A witness saw the car speed off. Saw the bald man with the neck tattoos behind the wheel with the trigger man beside him.”
“Same guy from R-Rusted Spur?”
She nodded in answer. “The very same. Or at least that’s what he confessed when the police caught up to both of them, not ten minutes after you were shot. They’ve been trying to kill me, trying ever since my old boss Vivian Carlisle found out I knew her fiancé, H. Lee Simmons, was bribing politicians. They killed Henry, and they almost killed you, twice.”
“The barn, too?” he guessed, remembering the locked door and accelerants, both of which Hellfire had stubbornly refused to admit to.
“I’m so sorry, Zach,” she said again. “I had no idea they were after me the whole time. Trying to shut me up before I let the public know what I’d found out.”
Worried for her safety, he asked, “They in jail now?”
“They are,” she said, “and Vivian Carlisle, too, since she was the one who hired those men from one of the hate groups Simmons was affiliated with.”
“What about Simmons?”
“He’s probably boiling mad, since the Lone Star Monthly’s article ran, and there’s a book version coming out next week. He may or may not end up in prison for some of the stuff he’s done—he can afford enough attorneys to put that decision off for years—but I’m pretty sure his political influence has come to an abrupt end. And there’s no doubt that Vivian will be spending a lot of years in prison.”
“Thanks to you,” he said. “But what about you? Are you safe now?”
“I’d like to think so,” she said, “but the truth is, I don’t know that, now that I’m the face of the woman who trashed Simmons’s ambition and shined a light on some very ugly groups of haters. These are not the kind of people who are known to give up grudges. And in spite of the precautions that I’ve taken, there have been a number of threats.”
“Credible threats?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “I really can’t say. The security people I contracted don’t believe so, for the most part. But even with the security people and Gretel watching out for me, I’m going to spend the next few years, at least, looking over my shoulder. Only this time, I’m not risking anybody else’s life.”
“What do you mean? You can’t blame yourself for all—”
“I absolutely can and should. If I’m going to go around tilting at windmills, I have to consider the fact that someone is very likely to get hurt, or even killed.” She squeezed his hand again, moisture gleaming on her lower eyes. “Someone else I lo— Care about. Which is why I’m signing over custody of my sister’s daughter.”
“Wh-what?” Forgetting his neck wound, he shook his head in confusion. “But she’s your flesh and blood, and I know you love her like a daughter.”
“I love her too much to risk putting her in danger,” she said, tears spilling from her eyes. “Too much to keep her any longer from the only real family that she’s known. The only family she wants.”
If he’d ever wondered for a single moment whether she could really love Eden the way he did, he dismissed the doubt now. For he knew all too well what it would take to give up her claim to her last surviving member of her family. The pain the wound would inflict, far deeper and more damaging than any bullet. “So you’ve made peace with my mother?”
“I kept thinking about what you said, the day you asked me how not forgiving Haley had worked out for either of us. And she really is so much better and so committed to doing the right thing for Eden. She’s looking after her right now. And Eden’s so happy to be going home at last, home to the ranch and her animals....” A sob bubbled up, but Jessie kept pushing forward. “And to you, too, Zach, as soon as you’re well enough. The doctors are saying you’ll make a full recovery.”
“But what about you? Where will you go?”
She shook her head. “Far enough to keep me from getting anyone else that I love shot.”
Now fully awake, he caught the words, their import. That I love, she’d said. “You can’t leave. Come to Rusted Spur. Come where I can keep you safe with me forever.”
“I was shot in Rusted Spur, remember? And I got Henry killed there, too. You, too, in that burning barn—or nearly.”
“But you weren’t mine then. I’ll keep you s
afe. I’ll watch you every minute of the day and night, if only—”
“I’m sorry, Zach,” she told him, for the third and final time. “But I’m not yours now. I never can be. I—I’ve just been waiting here to tell you one last goodbye.”
He tried to argue, but she wouldn’t listen, tried to follow her to the door, but there was no way he could get up. And so, she went to the door, giving him one last look over her shoulder before leaving.
Leaving, because she loved him as she loved Eden: too much to sacrifice.
Three months later...
On a small South Carolina barrier island known for wealthy vacationers, wild behavior and scantily clad beachgoers, a slender woman with wind-tossed, honey-blond hair and a wide-brimmed sunhat didn’t much stand out. Not even when that woman, dressed only in a bikini top, denim cut offs and a deep tan, walked an unleashed black-and-tan dog among the dunes at sunset.
From time to time, the former Jessie Layton, now known to her few acquaintances as part-time house sitter/full-time beach bum Jaime Cavanaugh, pitched a squeaky bunny toy to her companion. Each time the dog returned it, her wagging rear and canine grin made Jessie smile, too, absurdly glad she’d ignored her security consultant’s advice and refused to give up her last link to her family....
A family whose only living member was as lost to her as the dead.
A different family walked past Jessie toting folding chairs, an ice chest and the inevitable plastic pails and shovels, apparently intent on enjoying the gentler evening temperatures and the painted twilight sky. The smallest of three children stopped to look at Gretel and then asked Jessie, “I pet doggie?”
With waves caressing the nearby shoreline and the tang of salt air in her nostrils, Jessie nodded. “Sure you can, sweetie.”
“She’s safe?” the father asked her as he studied the powerfully built dog with obvious concern.
“It’s okay,” Jessie told him. “She absolutely loves kids. I promise you, your little ones couldn’t be safer than with her.”
After signaling the dog to sit, she watched, slivers of longing driven through her at the sight of the tiny child wrapping chubby arms around the Rottweiler’s thick neck. Clearly delighted, Gretel gave the girl’s face a lick, prompting both of her older brothers to come and join the petting, each of them collecting a few kisses in the process.
“Thank you,” the children’s mother told her before taking her youngest by the hand, “but it’s time to go now, you three. Don’t you want to play in the water before it gets too dark?”
“Bye-bye, doggie!” said the little girl, her piping voice reminding Jessie so painfully of Eden that it sucked the air from her lungs.
As the family disappeared over the dune, Gretel stared after them as Jessie’s shaking knees gave way. Sinking down to sit in the sand, she leaned forward, her heart gone hollow, her stomach leaden, as waves of grief and longing crashed over her like a storm-driven surf.
She fought not to give in to it, telling herself she was lucky to be here, hidden like a pearl in this secluded paradise. Lucky her career was flourishing, as well, with another book for her to work on, another project to pass the time and fill the emptiness inside her, even if that work had driven her to dye and grow out her hair, wear blue contacts and hide away in the unoccupied beach house of her parents’ wealthy friends, who had decided to spend this summer in their Paris apartment.
But the sight of the little girl, the protective father, the whole happy family, served to remind Jessie that all the book deals, award nominations and TV interviews meant nothing if she had no one to share them with. Over the past months she’d drifted far off course, her life losing its meaning. Losing everything but sporadic email contact with her editors and agent, along with the occasional offer from the smarmy hair-product millionaire next door—a Jacuzzi shark of a man with flowing, pure-white locks—to provide her with what he’d promised would be some “quality, no-strings sex” anytime she found herself wanting.
The thought was so repugnant she was nearly ill the day he’d offered, yet sometimes, late at night, as she ached for all that she had lost, she wondered, would she ever be touched again the way that Zach Rayford had touched her? Would the tight fist of her scarred heart ever open up again? Or would loneliness break her spirit, eventually reducing her to accepting sleazy, meaningless offers from guys like Captain Good Hair, since she’d grown too frightened of forming real attachments to risk anyone she truly cared for.
Gretel whined in the direction of the family one last time before trotting over and dropping the slobbery toy in front of Jessie. Rather than throwing it again, she hugged the dog, harder than the little girl who’d reminded her so painfully of Eden. Apparently, too hard for comfort, for the Rottweiler whined, backed out of her mistress’s embrace and snatched up her beloved bunny. An instant later, she pricked up her ears, then loped away, cresting the hill and racing out of sight before Jessie could stop her.
“No, Gretel!” she cried, rising to keep her dog from abandoning her in favor of the loving family she craved. When the Rottweiler didn’t listen—a rare event in itself—Jessie broke into a run, cresting the hill in time to see Gretel drop the toy and bare her teeth, her hackles rising as she glared daggers at her mistress.
Heart pounding, a bewildered Jessie was about to stammer out the platz command before the Rottweiler charged past her, growling at a figure rushing toward her. A large, well-built male figure, silhouetted by the bloodred August sky.
Without waiting for a command, Gretel launched herself at the tall man, knocking him to the ground with a shout of pain and surprise before she caught him by the arm.
“Get her off him! Don’t let her bite down!” shouted a second man behind her, the man Gretel had been rushing toward with her toy.
The man who had bribed her dog with steak tidbits all too often.
“Zach!” she cried. “What’re you doing here?”
“It’s Nate your dog has pinned down,” he said. “And annoying as he can be, don’t let the fanged menace chew him up.”
She gave Gretel the release command, freeing her to run back to greet Zach while Nate picked himself up off the ground.
“Are you all right?” She looked over her shoulder to ask the bull rider.
“That animal could give the bucking bulls one heck of a run for their money,” Nate complained as he brushed the sanding off his arm. “But yeah, I’ll be fine—annoying or not,” he added, shooting his friend an aggrieved look.
“And so will I,” Zach told her, “now that we’ve finally found you.”
“Why would you do this?” she demanded, pulling off her hat so she could better see him. “Why would you track me down, when you know it could jeopardize my safety?” To say nothing of my heart. The very sight of him, so deeply tanned and drop-dead gorgeous in his half-buttoned linen shirt and loose, beachcomber’s pants, was enough to crack through her hard-won composure, threatening to shatter it completely.
“I came to bring you back to Texas,” he said, “to beg you if I have to.”
She shook her head and pushed a few bleached strands from her eyes. “You know I can’t risk that, won’t risk you and Eden and your mother.”
Nate cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable to be here. “How ’bout if I take a walk now?” he asked. “Go check out the surf.”
“Only if you take him with you,” Jessie told him, gesturing toward Zach.
But Zach was speaking over her, saying, “Sure, man. Go ahead. And why don’t you take Gretel?” He looked at Jessie and asked, “That’s okay, isn’t it? You want to lend him that leash?”
“I—I don’t— Gretel watches. She watches out for—for trouble,” she said, still too afraid to speak the name of H. Lee Simmons or mention the hate groups he was affiliated with in public.
“That’s what I’ve come to tell you.�
�� An expression of relief and joy lit his face. “You don’t have to fear them anymore.”
“I don’t have to—” She shook her head. “What?”
“Here,” he said, gently taking the leash from her and passing it to his friend to clip on Gretel’s collar. “Let the man go walk the dog, or, knowing him, use her to try to pick up one of those bikini babes we spotted packing all their stuff up.”
Her head spinning, she gave Gretel leave to go with Nate. Once the two were out of sight, she simply stood, staring up into Zach’s blue eyes, questions buzzing like a thousand insects inside her brain.
“I’ve come to take you home,” he repeated, taking her into his arms first. Pulling her into the strength of his embrace. “Home to Rusted Spur, to Eden, to the legacy that will never mean one damn thing without you.”
She felt herself split down the middle, cracked wide-open by her need to recapture the fleeting dream she’d once had. A dream she would give her very soul for another shot at.
But images flickered through her brain, flashes like heat lightning stabbing the horizon. Flashes of Zach’s blood, running swiftly toward the gutter. Of Henry’s body, lying near the open doorway of that rundown bunkhouse.
“But I can’t,” she said. “I just can’t. They’ll never stop. I know—”
“No, I know,” he corrected her, pausing long enough to press a soft kiss to her temple. “I know that I can keep you safe now, safe where you belong.”
Pulling back, she looked up at him. “How? What’s changed, Zach? Please don’t put me through this, not unless there’s some chance.”
“For one thing, H. Lee Simmons was arrested. He’s in custody, without bail, for bribery of public officials. And from what Canter’s been able to find out through his sources, that’s the least serious of the charges against him. Federal charges, which means no possibility of parole until his sentence has been served.”
“You mean, if he’s convicted.”
“To tell you the truth, he may not even live to be convicted. Apparently, there was a big falling out of some sort between him and his favorite hate groups. They found out he was feeding the Feds information about them, so they turned over a bunch of incriminating videos—including one that showed Simmons talking about taking out some federal judges.”
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