She shoved thoughts of Johnny out of her head as she turned down the short, tree-lined lane that led to the Emery mansion. Although she’d admired the huge, two-story house a hundred times in passing, this was the first time she would be admitted inside.
Pulling up front, she took a moment to admire the structure. Elegant, with a sweeping veranda and huge columns, the house whispered of longevity and wealth. Burton Emery, Rachel’s dead husband, had amassed a fortune both in ranching and by dabbling in real estate.
A widower with a son, it had been big news when he’d wed Rachel, a woman who’d become an instant stepmother to Bradley. Sydney was eleven, Gillian only a year old when Burton had died of a heart attack. Nineteen-year-old Bradley had taken up the reins of responsibility and stepped into his father’s shoes.
It was obvious the ranch continued to prosper, Marissa thought as she got out of her car. The outbuildings were in pristine condition and several handsome horses pranced proudly in the large corral.
Marissa knocked on the front door and was ushered into a formal living room by the housekeeper. “Mrs. Emery will be with you momentarily,” she said as she directed Marissa to one of the wing-backed chairs in front of a marble fireplace.
Marissa nodded and sank down on the chair, a little intimidated by the grandioseness of her surroundings. She wasn’t certain if it was the magnificence of her surroundings that caused a flutter of anxiety in the pit of her stomach, or the knowledge that Rachel Emery had probably heard by now the gossip of Marissa’s relationship to Johnny. In any case, as she sat waiting for the lady of the house to appear, her stomach rolled and kicked as if protesting the lunch she hadn’t yet eaten.
The room was overly warm, with the midday sunshine streaming in through the open curtains. She shrugged out of her jacket and folded it across one arm, grateful that her blouse beneath was sleeveless.
“Marissa.” Marissa jumped up from her chair as Rachel swept into the room. “Thank you for finding time for me today,” she said as she gestured Marissa back into the chair. She sat opposite Marissa, her white hair a perfect foil against the navy fabric of the high-backed chair behind her.
“No problem,” Marissa replied. “I often close shop for an hour or so at this time of the day.”
“Would you care for something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine,” Marissa replied.
Rachel nodded, then looked at the housekeeper who waited in the doorway. “That will be all, Alma,” she said, then waited for the woman to close the large wooden doors, giving Marissa and Rachel complete privacy.
Despite the warmth of the day, Rachel was impeccably dressed in a high-necked, long-sleeved blue dress that perfectly matched her eyes. Her makeup was understated and her jewelry tasteful. Marissa had never seen the older woman when she wasn’t turned out flawlessly.
Rachel stood and walked to one of the windows, her back to Marissa. “Summer is just around the corner,” she observed. “Sydney always loved the summer.”
The fluttering in Marissa’s stomach intensified. She wasn’t sure how to answer, so said nothing at all. Rachel remained with her back to Marissa. “I miss her, you know. She was my firstborn, so bright and so beautiful.”
Marissa heard the deep grief in Rachel’s voice and compassion replaced anxiety. How horrid to lose a child to murder. Marissa couldn’t imagine the depth of pain Rachel earned with her every waking hour, every dreaming moment.
Rachel turned away from the window and faced Marissa. “Forgive me,” she said with the dignity that was as much a part of her as her hollow blue eyes. She once again sat in the chair opposite Marissa. For a long moment she said nothing, but her expression was one of a woman contemplating her next words. She leaned forward, a sudden fervor in her eyes. “Marissa...”
The double doors swung open and Brad strode in. “Well, well. Alma told me we had a guest.” He smiled at Marissa...seemingly a different man from when she’d last seen him with rage contorting his features as he’d threatened Johnny.
He walked around to stand behind his stepmother and placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “Mother, did you offer our guest refreshments?”
“She did,” Marissa replied. “And I told her I’m fine.” Marissa shifted in her seat, aware that Brad seemed to have brought with him an electrical charge that filled the air with tension.
“Please, don’t let me interrupt,” Brad said as he walked over to the wet bar in the corner of the room. As he splashed scotch into the bottom of a glass, Marissa turned her attention back to Rachel.
Rachel’s face seemed paler, more strained as she once again focused on Marissa. “We understand that you have some sort of a personal relationship with Johnny Crockett.” Her voice, normally soft and polished, was halting and filled with stress.
Warning bells went off in Marissa’s head as she realized it wasn’t just prom and flower business that had brought her here. “Johnny is my son’s father,” Marissa said.
“Then you have some degree of influence on him,” Brad exclaimed.
Marissa smiled at his obvious misconception. “Nobody has influence on Johnny. He’s definitely his own man.”
“He’s definitely a man we want out of Mustang,” Brad replied.
“I think Johnny is well aware of your sentiments where he is concerned.” Marissa looked searchingly at Rachel. “Is that why you asked me here? To see if somehow I can make Johnny leave town?”
“He’s asking questions, bothering our ranch hands,” Brad replied. He took a swallow of his drink then continued, “He’s upsetting my mother with all his digging into the past.”
Marissa didn’t look at Brad, but rather kept her attention focused on Rachel. “He’s digging into the past because he didn’t kill your daughter.” Marissa knew now what she’d always known, that Johnny wasn’t capable of the act of murder. He’d been wrong when he’d accused her of having doubts about that particular issue.
“Spoken like a woman who’s bedding the man in question,” Brad said with a hint of a sneer.
“Bradley,” Rachel admonished. She sighed wearily, looking smaller and more fragile than Marissa had ever seen her before. When she looked back at Marissa, her face reflected weary resignation. “We were hoping that you could convince Johnny to leave things alone, stop asking questions that dredge up the pain, the horror all over again ”
“I can’t do that,” Marissa replied, then raised her chin a notch higher. “I won’t do that. I believe in Johnny’s innocence, and unless he asks questions, digs deeper, the real killer will never be found.”
It was at that moment that Marissa realized her feelings for Johnny ran deeper than she’d acknowledged to herself. She cared about him more than she’d ever cared about any man, and she would do whatever she could to help him prove his innocence.
“You tell him to keep the hell away from my men,” Brad exclaimed.
Marissa gazed at Rachel, ignoring Brad’s outburst. “I’m sorry if this is painful for you, Rachel, but on that night ten years ago, when Johnny found Sydney in the shed, she was already dead.” Marissa stood. “He didn’t kill her, and I intend to encourage him to keep digging, keep asking questions. He spent ten years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, meanwhile, the real killer has continued life, comfortable in the knowledge that he got away with murder. I intend to help Johnny change that.”
She turned and started for the door, but hesitated when Rachel called after her. Marissa turned back to look at the older woman. “We’ve decided this year not to use flowers for the prom decorations, so I’m afraid we won’t be needing your services.”
Marissa stared at Rachel in shocked surprise. “I...I don’t understand,” she said even though she understood perfectly well. If she wasn’t willing to use her influence with Johnny, then she would be punished by losing the large prom account.
Rachel’s cheeks pinkened slightly and she didn’t meet Marissa gaze. “We’ve decided to do things differently this year. I’m sorr
y ”
Brad again moved to stand behind his stepmother, his hands once more settling on her shoulders. “Alma will see you out,” Brad said.
As if by magic, the housekeeper appeared at the door. “This way,” she said and Marissa followed.
Within minutes Marissa was again in her car and headed back into town. The loss of the prom account was difficult to swallow. Providing flowers for the school dance had been one of the few big money occasions throughout the year.
Losing the account would mean she would have to tighten her belt, watch how she spent each and every penny. While the flower shop had been a money-maker for the last four years, the profits weren’t huge and there had been times in the past she’d had to borrow money from her parents to get through a month or two when Benjamin needed something not in the budget
“It’s nothing short of blackmail,” she breathed aloud. She would have had the school account if she’d agreed to pressure Johnny. But, her integrity couldn’t be bought.
It was bought ten years ago, a little voice murmured insidiously, when she’d turned her back on Johnny, and her payoff had been no awkward questions, no sly looks or grins. She’d held her silence, and withheld her support because she’d been afraid of what people would think.
Shame coursed through her as she recognized the truth. She’d tried to tell herself for years that she’d turned her back on Johnny because she believed he’d slept with Sydney.
But, the truth was, she hadn’t wanted her name to be tangled with the dirt-poor, bad boy who would probably go to prison. She’d stayed away not because he was dirt-poor, or because he had a reputation as a teen with a chip on his shoulder, but because she’d known the kind of reprisals she’d face for being involved with him... reprisals she’d been too weak to face.
“I’m sorry, Johnny,” she whispered. She’d said those same words to him the night before, and he’d thrown them back in her face. She’d given him too little, too late.
He might have loved her once, but she’d thrown his love away. Even if she wanted the two of them to try again, which of course she didn’t, she had a feeling Johnny didn’t believe in second chances, especially where she was concerned.
What she didn’t understand was why this thought brought with it a yawning black hole that ached with regret, throbbed with loss, a black hole that took up residency in her heart.
Chapter 11
Johnny sat on the ground beneath a leafy tree to eat the lunch he’d packed for himself that day. Cameron Gallagher only had half a dozen hands working for him, and the others had driven into town for lunch at the café. They’d asked Johnny to go with them, but he’d declined, explaining that he’d brought his lunch.
It had taken Johnny less than an hour to come to the conclusion that he liked and respected Cameron Gallagher. Although apparently not one to small talk, he’d worked side by side his hands, treating then all like valued partners instead of inferior underlings.
The Gallagher ranch seemed to be still in its infancy. A new barn was half-built and looked to be twice the size of its older, sagging counterpart. Although there were no cattle, there was a small herd of purebred horses cavorting in the tall grass of one of the pastures.
Johnny ate his ham and cheese sandwich slowly, enjoying the warm breeze that fanned his face, bringing with it the scent of sweet green grass and dark, rich earth. How he had missed the smell of Montana while in prison. He’d ached for the sight of the wide, blue sky and the feel of the sun warming his face.
He finished his sandwich and pulled an apple from the paper bag that had held his lunch. He bit into the sweet, juicy fruit and tried to keep thoughts of Marissa at bay.
He didn’t want to think about her, about last night and their lovemaking. Every time he thought about it, he was assailed by conflicting emotions. It was much easier to focus on the anger that had propelled him out the door and into the night...an ever-present anger that had begun ten years before and grown harder, colder each and every day since.
“Hi.”
Johnny jumped in surprise at the childish voice coming from behind him. He leaned out to look around the tree trunk and saw a little girl peering back at him.
“Hi, yourself,” he replied.
She came around the tree and plopped down in the grass next to hun. “My name is Rebecca, what’s yours?” She had gamine features and chin-length, pale blond hair. She offered him a smile that displayed a missing front tooth.
“I’m Johnny,” he replied.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” She eyed him steadily. “Are you a good cowboy or a bad cowboy?”
“Definitely a good one.” He bit back a smile. She was a cutie, six or seven years old and dressed in denim jeans and a cowboy shirt with white fringe and pink pearlized buttons. Her feet were clad in a pair of shiny red miniature cowboy boots.
“You got anything in that bag that a cowgirl might like to eat?” she asked.
Johnny dug into the bag. “I’ve got some corn chips,” he offered.
She nodded and took the snack-size bag he held out. “Thank you, Mr. Johnny.”
For several moments they were silent, Johnny finishing his apple and his tiny lunch mate eating the corn chips with crunchy relish.
When she finished the chips, she wadded up the bag and gave it back to Johnny. “You have any kids, Mr. Johnny?” she asked.
“I’ve got a son. His name is Benjamin,” Johnny replied. “Is your daddy Cameron Gallagher?”
“Yup.” She frowned. “Except he’s not my real daddy. My real daddy died and then me and Mom met Mr. Lallager, then Mr. Lallager ‘dopted me.” She smiled, a beatific smile of happiness. “And now Mr. Lallagher is my daddy. And I love him more than anything in the whole wide world...’cept my mom.”
In the distance a woman stepped out on the back porch. “Rebecca?” she called.
“I’m here, Mommy.” Rebecca stood and waved to her mother.
“Come inside. It’s time for lunch,” the woman called out.
“I gotta go,” Rebecca said to Johnny. “Me and Mommy and Daddy always eat lunch together when I’m not in school.” With a cheerful wave, she turned and ran for the house.
Johnny watched her go and smiled. Cameron Gallagher was one lucky man. From what Rebecca had said, at noon every day he went home to enjoy the midday meal with a woman who loved him and a little girl who thought he hung the moon.
And at night, Cameron probably tucked his little girl into bed with hugs and kisses, then went to his own room where his wife awaited him. They would make passionate love, then fall asleep in each other’s arms.
It was exactly the kind of life Johnny had always dreamed of for himself. A ranch, a wife and half a dozen children to fill the house with laughter and love. From the time he was small, a lonely fatherless boy being raised by a beaten-down mother who worked too hard on a failing ranch, he’d dreamed of building a life much different than what he’d had. He’d wanted to be a successful rancher, a faithful husband, and a loving, supportive father.
The moment he’d met Marissa, he’d known she was the woman he wanted to build those dreams for, the one he wanted to live with for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, fate had other plans for him.
He stood, irritated with his thoughts of Marissa and what might have been. Even though he’d smelled her on his skin when he’d first awakened this morning, despite the fact that his body had still tingled with the memory of their impassioned joining, he knew there was no way for him to get past his anger, past his heartache and forgive her.
Making love to her had been a mistake, one he didn’t intend to repeat. He needed to be in her life, like an ex-husband who needs to maintain contact for the relationship with the child. At least until Benjamin was eighteen, he and Marissa would have to deal with each other. But, there would be no more physical contact between them.
He threw his lunch bag into the cab of his pickup, then sat down to wait for the rest of the crew to return from lunch.
As he waited, he thought of what little Rebecca had said to him, that she wasn’t Cameron’s birth child, but rather had been adopted.
Some day would Marissa marry some man who would want to adopt Benjamin? Would the day come when Marissa would try to convince Johnny that the best thing for Benjy would be for him to relinquish his parental rights? And if that day came and Johnny realized that would be best for Benjamin, would he be able to do it despite the breaking of his own heart?
With enormous relief he saw in the distance the truck carrying the other workers back from lunch. Nothing like hard work to keep thoughts at bay. And at least for today, Johnny wanted no more thoughts of Marissa and the dreams she’d shattered.
They worked until dusk, then called it a day. As Johnny drove back to his place, his muscles ached from exertion, but it was the good ache of hard work and chores accomplished. If only he’d gained the sore muscles from working on his own land, building his own place.
A couple more weeks, he promised himself. The prom kicked off the weekend in two weeks and hopefully he’d win the purse for bull riding and that would be the beginning of a new future for him.
As he pulled up in front of his place, for a long moment he sat and stared at the house. It didn’t look warm and welcoming, but rather abandoned...deserted. No lights shone from the windows to ward off the coming night. No scents of cooking, no sound of laughter would greet him as he walked through the door.
He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, he was accustomed to being alone. There were times he felt as if he’d lived all of his life alone.
As a child, he’d suffered the emptiness of knowing his father had turned his back on him. As a young teenager he’d endured peer taunts because of his worn clothes, his lack of spending money.
In the pain of that isolation, he’d developed a tough-guy attitude and a chip on his shoulder that had further separated him from everyone else. Then, with his arrest, he’d spent ten agonizing years alone in a jail cell, learning to live with his aloneness.
So why did he ache with emptiness as he sat staring at his lonely house? Why did he yearn for the laughter of children to fill the air? If he was so damned comfortable in his aloneness, why did he fantasize the sweet scent of perfume in the air, small, dainty hands to stroke his face as a woman kissed him hello after a hard day’s work? And why in the hell did the woman in his fantasy have Marissa’s face?
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