Stormy Passion

by Brenda Jernigan

  Why couldn't he feel this way with Carol? Why did his heart have to belong to someone he couldn't trust? Someone who had destroyed him once. Was Brenna a witch who had cast a spell over him? Was he to live in eternal damnation for once loving her?

  He ran a hand through his hair. Damn it. He loved someone else. It was lust that drove him to this insanity. Lust and wounded pride!

  His gaze rested once more on her. “Why, Brenna?”

  “Why?” she repeated.

  “Why did you leave me?”

  The anguish in his voice made her shiver. He had asked the one question Brenna had dreaded ever since she'd first laid eyes on Taylor in the dining room. The question she could never honestly answer. Suddenly she was transported back three years to the cold conference room of Vivian Rothschild's attorneys. Brenna could shut her eyes and picture the woman dressed in her soft pink suit. The woman Brenna had hoped one day would accept her as a daughter. However, that day never came.

  “Answer me, damn it,” Taylor's voice brought her back from her painful memories. “I have a right to know.”

  “I--I just had to.”

  “Had to, hell!” He released her so abruptly she nearly stumbled. “You could at least have told me you didn't love me anymore,” his voiced hissed with anger.

  Contempt was written plainly on his face. She knew she should lie to him, but she couldn't. “I--I never stopped loving you.”

  “Well, lady, you have a funny way of showing it.” Taylor grabbed her by the arms and held her close to him. “Who was he, Brenna? And where is he now?”

  “I--I don't know what you're talking about.” Brenna squirmed trying to loosen his painful grip.

  “Like hell you don't!” he flung at her. “My own mother saw you sneaking out of town with another man.”

  “What!” Brenna knew her eyes grew wide with shock. Of all the low down dirty tricks. His mother had shut the coffin lid making sure Brenna would never have another chance with Taylor.

  He shook her slightly. “Tell me why, Brenna. Make me understand,” Taylor pleaded in an anguished voice.

  Brenna grew cold inside.

  She now understood the hate she'd seen in his eyes earlier. “Let go of me. You're hurting my arms.” She said very calmly. But calm was far from what she felt as rage seethed through her. Immediately, he released her. “Didn't you receive the letter I sent you?”

  Taylor looked at her quizzically. “What letter?”

  “Never mind. I--It's not important.” Tears gathered in Brenna's eyes. His mother had probably intercepted that, too. The woman should be hung. “You believe what your mother told you?”

  “Of course, I do. Why should she lie?”

  Brenna couldn't tell him the truth, but she could deny his mother's lie. She opened her mouth to tell him what a liar his mother really was, then shut it. If she stayed any longer she would cry, and her pride wouldn't let her do that. Besides, all the words in the world wouldn't change what had happened. Especially when she couldn't tell Taylor the whole truth.

  “Good night, Taylor.” Brenna turned and ran from the room.

  But Taylor had different ideas.

  Chapter Five

  Taylor's footsteps echoed behind Brenna, but she made it to the staircase and swiftly climbed the stairs. When she reached the top she turned and, through tear-filled eyes, saw Taylor staring at her from the bottom. She wasted little time gaining the solitude of her room.

  Falling across her bed, she sobbed for hours, letting the misery flow from her body. She was so stupid. For years she’d protected herself from the hurt only to open herself back up for pain again. Why couldn’t she not care at all?

  Finally, when all her energy was drained, she fell into an exhausted sleep, void of pain.

  Taylor sat in front of the fireplace, staring at the flames, yet seeing nothing. Somehow, the fire wasn't as cozy as it had been and the snow wasn't quite as pretty.

  He crossed his feet and propped his chin on his folded hands. He'd given Brenna every opportunity to deny the other man. But she hadn't. His common sense told him he should stay away from her. However, when she was near him, a raging desire took the place of logic. He wondered if he was a man on the brink of insanity, or maybe it was because he never had closure with Brenna.

  Shutting his eyes, he recalled their conversation. She'd asked about a letter he'd never received. His eyelids flew open as his anger nudged him again. “Son of a bitch!” He gave a low grunt while he watched the flames. What had she done? Left him a note saying, “Sorry, sap, I've left with another man.” Then again, Brenna could be the one lying. Why would his mother have lied to him? She'd always liked Brenna and was as upset as he was when she left.

  Why hadn't Brenna denied the accusations and called him a liar? He shifted in his chair. Because they were true, Taylor quickly reminded himself. Yet, when she turned to leave he could have sworn there had been tears in her eyes. Could he somehow be wrong about Brenna?

  Taylor stood, picked up the poker and jabbed at the fire, breaking a log in two and sending a shower of orange sparks and embers up into the air. The smoke burned his nose and he backed away.

  One thing he was sure of--Brenna had wanted to kiss him. And his reaction to her produced a surge of emotions he hadn't felt in a long, long time. So where did that leave him? With a damned headache, that's where.

  He shifted his thoughts to Carol. That's who he should be thinking about, not a memory from his past. Carol lay upstairs, asleep in his bed. He sighed. Just when he thought his life was moving forward, his doubts had surfaced stronger than before. Carol didn't turn his blood to fire as Brenna did, leaving him aching when she touched him. Funny, until now he'd never realized that simple fact. He thought he’d moved on.

  Taylor walked over to the window, propped his shoulder on the wall, and rested his forehead on the cold windowpane. The irony of it all was he was going to marry Carol.

  He'd sure made a mess of things. But too much had happened for him and Brenna to have any kind of future ... too much distrust ... too much love . . . too much time.

  Pushing away from the wall, Taylor headed for the stairs. His future lay with Carol. He would not back out of his proposal.

  Memories were better off in the past.

  The next morning, Brenna awoke with a pounding headache and puffy eyelids. She sat up in bed and let her half-sleepy eyes adjust to the stabbing sunlight.

  All too quickly, last night came flooding back to her. Why had she been so foolish? She had fallen willingly into Taylor's arms, shut her eyes and almost begged him to kiss her. Was she looking for trouble? The only thing her foolishness had done was to churn up all the emotions she had tried so hard to destroy.

  Why had he acted as if he still cared? For old-time’s sake? Or because he truly felt something for her? Boy, how she'd love to have the answer to that question. She did have an answer she wished she didn't have. Vivian Rothschild had gone to great lengths to get and keep her out of Taylor's life. His mother had not only made up a false story, but had evidently gotten hold of the letter Brenna had left for Taylor.

  No wonder Taylor hated her. “But,” Brenna muttered as she threw back the covers and slid out of bed, “he shouldn't have believed the worst.” If Taylor had loved her as he'd claimed, he should have known she'd never do anything so devious.

  Her anger grew as she dressed. She pulled out a pair of bright red ski pants and coat and laid them across the bed for later. Sliding a white angora sweater over her head, Brenna fluffed up her hair. She snatched a pair of beige flannel slacks and stepped into them.

  She double dared Taylor to speak to her this morning. As far as she was concerned, Mr. Rothschild could go to hell. She planned to have a good time today if it killed her. She left her room the same time Carol walked out her door.

  “Good morning,” Brenna managed to get out. She felt guilty but realized that she did like Carol.

  “I hope so,” Carol's weary voice did not go unnoticed as they
walked down the stairs.

  “You're up early,” Brenna commented.

  “I couldn't sleep. Taylor suffered a good case of restlessness last night. When he wasn't tossing and turning, he paced around the room.” Carol sighed. “Finally, in the wee hours of morning, he said he was going for a walk. I haven't seen him since. Sometimes I just don't understand that man. H--he seems so unhappy, and lately I've had my own doubts, too.”

  They reached the bottom of the staircase, and Brenna had no idea what to say. Somehow she felt responsible for this mess. Brenna knew she should comfort Carol, but how?

  “I'm sorry,” Carol broke the silence. “I know you don't want to hear all this. I guess I'm just tired. A good cup of coffee would sure help.”

  As much as Brenna wanted to dislike the woman, she found she couldn't. As a matter of fact, she felt sorry for Carol and placed a hand on her arm. “You do sound tired. I'll find you some coffee. Why don't you go in the living room where you can enjoy the fire, and I'll bring you a fresh cup of coffee.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Good morning,” Brenna called to Geraldine when she entered through the well-worn kitchen doors. “Did you enjoy your sleigh ride home?”

  “Let's just say, I'm glad Henry Ford invented the automobile. There's a lot to be said for heat.”

  Brenna chuckled as she poured a cup of coffee. “I'll be right back.”

  “Where are ya going?” Geraldine yelled just as Brenna went out the door.

  Brenna stopped. Carol sat in the same chair Brenna had used last night. Memories flashed uninvited through her mind. Taylor's smile. The wonderful way he touched her. The tenderness when he said her name. Stop it. She shook her head and moved forward. “Here's your coffee and a Southern Living magazine I thought you might like to see.”

  “Good. It'll give me something to do until Taylor comes back.”

  “I'm sure he'll be back soon,” Brenna tried to soothe her. She wondered why Carol had agreed to marry Taylor if the woman had doubts. It was strange. “Breakfast will be ready shortly.”

  On her way back to the kitchen, Brenna wondered what in the world Taylor could be doing outside. And why was he unhappy? Had she made him that way? He could be so unpredictable. Hopefully, he would walk off his foul mood. Come to think about it, she didn't care what Taylor was doing, or what he was thinking. She didn't want the man to touch her. Let him touch Carol like he should be doing. He was Carol’s problem now. Brenna shoved the door a little harder than she meant to, and it hit the wall.

  Geraldine had a bowl under her arm beating fresh eggs. “Watcha frownin' about?”

  Coming back to the real world, Brenna avoided Geraldine's knowing look as she wandered over to the sink. “Nothing.”

  “Done something ya shouldn't have?”

  Brenna straightened at Geraldine's words. Was she a mind-reader? “How did--of course not. What made you say such a thing?” Brenna tried hard to sound offended instead of guilty.

  Geraldine gave her a knowing grin. “Just a hunch.”

  Opening the drawer beside her, Brenna started counting out the silverware. Before she could control her mouth, she said, “I almost kissed Taylor last night.”

  “Ya did what!” Geraldine shouted, then immediately calmed down and asked. “Why did ya do that for?”

  Brenna turned around surprised at Geraldine's reaction. Brenna had expected motherly advice or a stern reprimand, but Geraldine sounded appalled. “Oh, hell, I don't know.” Brenna shrugged. “Probably stupidity. It seemed like the thing to do at the moment.”

  “Did he want to kiss ya back?”

  “I think so. But whether it was for old times sake, or because he still cared, I couldn't tell you. We ended up having a fight.”

  “Why?”

  Brenna raised her brow slightly as she watched Geraldine stirring a pot of grits. She sure was nosy this morning. “Because I wouldn't answer his questions.”

  Geraldine dropped the lid on the pot and shook her spoon at Brenna. “How long ya goin' to let him think bad of ya?”

  Brenna shut the drawer with her hip and grabbed a handful of napkins. “You, of all people, know I can't tell him the truth. We could lose the roof over our heads. Besides if Mrs. Rothschild brought everything out in the open what would the people around here think? I left River Run to get away from gossip. Nobody here knows about our past and I want to keep it that way. I don't want Lisa to remember any of our dark secrets.” Brenna's mind filled with sour thoughts.

  “I'm sure Taylor will hate me when he finds out his love meant so little that I took money for it. He'll never realize that I did part of it for him.”

  “In that case, ya better forget about Taylor. Remember, he's leavin' tomorrow,” Geraldine reminded Brenna as she pulled the butter and eggs out of the refrigerator.

  “I know.” Brenna placed everything on the tray so she could set the remaining tables. Tomorrow, she thought. Sometimes that seemed like a long, long time. “It's for the best. Then maybe life will get back to normal.”

  Geraldine quit cracking eggs and examined her with a raised brow. “Will it be the same?”

  As Brenna moved out the door, she frowned at the bossy old cook because she knew she couldn't answer her question. Life had ceased being normal three years ago.

  It wasn't long before Brenna and Lisa were on their way to town. After the storm last night, the air was still and the trees bent over from their burden of snow. The cold, crisp air felt good on Brenna's face. As she glanced around, she thought Hollow Ridge looked like heaven. Pure white snow blanketed everything.

  “Isn't it a beautiful day?” Lisa laughed as she scooped up a handful of powdered flakes and took a bite.

  The white snow contrasted with Lisa’s navy blue nylon jacket, and Brenna realized her sister would be a beautiful young lady in a few years. There had been many times when she thought Lisa would be permanently scarred by their past, both mentally and physically. The vivid nightmares Lisa had the first year made Brenna's blood run cold. Through her sister's eyes, she'd relived bits and pieces of that bloody day, and always Brenna blamed herself for not being there to stop the bloodshed. Her father had never been a violent man so nothing that happened that day made any sense. The police said her father had simply gone crazy. Brenna didn't accept that, but she finally learned she had to put everything behind her if she was going to heal both their wounds.

  “Brenna! Are you daydreaming?” Lisa shook Brenna's arm. “It is a beautiful day.”

  “It couldn't be better,” Brenna said cheerfully as she slid her hands into her pockets, thankful they lived in the safe little town of Hollow Ridge. “Look at that blue sky, there isn't a cloud anywhere.” She nudged her sister with her elbow. “What's the first thing you want to do?”

  “Let's go see the ice carvings. I heard there's one of a giraffe. Then I want to go to the ice castle where they're selling hot-pink toboggans.”

  “I think we can manage that.”

  Once downtown, the murmur of the crowd lent itself to the feeling of a carnival. The first place they visited was the Great Ice Rock where icicles, ten feet long, hung from the rocky surface. They spoke to several of Lisa's friends and promised to see them later.

  The ice carvings looked like blown glass and defied the human imagination that a person could create statues with a chain saw and chisel. There were all sorts of animal carvings and snowmen.

  Downtown was full of small shops just like most tourist towns. Yet, Hollow Ridge had a special quaint aura about the place, making it different from the big resort towns. Of course, Brenna realized she might be just a bit predigested.

  Next, they went to the crystal shop, and Brenna bought some prisms to hang in her windows at home. She had always been fascinated by these little trinkets. They sparkled just like the snow did today.

  A half-hour later, they came out of the shop and strolled down the sidewalk. “Mmm, I can smell coffee,” Brenna commented. They spoke to the townsfolk and nodded to th
e strangers visiting the festival. An artist stopped them as they walked by, insisting that Brenna and Lisa have their portrait made. Lisa sat down first and Brenna stood behind her, while the painter worked rapidly with the pastel chalks.

  “That's what I call a pretty picture!” David slipped behind the artist and peered at the sketch attached to the easel.

  “You have good taste, my friend,” the craftsman said. He tore off the paper and handed the finished etchings to Brenna.

  “I agree. You do very good work,” she told the tall, thin man who wore a smock over his ski pants. “This is a good likeness of Lisa.”

  “I'll say.” David took the paper out of her hand. “I want this one for myself.”

  “You want a picture of us?” Lisa didn't try to hide the surprise in her voice.

  “Who wouldn't want a picture of two beautiful ladies?” David smiled at them. “Can I treat you to some lunch?”

  Brenna agreed even though her sister frowned her displeasure. They ate at The Souper, a quaint, outside snack bar. The smell of good food mixed well with the cold air. After they had devoured bowls of delicious homemade vegetable soup, Brenna sat back with a cup of hot coffee, watching the steam rise above the rim as she listened to David talk about his business. He ran the local hardware store, and though Brenna smiled and nodded every so often, there wasn't much that interested her. Tools were boring.

  David was sweet, and he was a good guy, but unfortunately, he wanted more than she could give. He was a friend plain and simple. She had no desire to ever give her heart away again. The pain was too hard. Brenna glanced at her sister, who stared out into space; it wasn't hard to see the boredom in Lisa's eyes.

  “Look! There's Taylor.” Lisa jumped out of her chair. “I'm going over and talk to him.”