Jasmine stared at her, too stunned to speak. Finally, after a long moment, she shook her head and said, “It’s too late, Mother. You don’t need to worry. None of this really matters, anyway.”
Celeste frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Storm…and me.” The ever-present tears filled her eyes. With a humorless laugh, she raked a hand through her short, cropped hair. “You’re too late with your advice, Mother. Storm has made it perfectly clear that he isn’t interested in me. In fact after tonight I doubt if he’ll ever want to see me again.”
Her mother took a step toward her. “Jasmine, I’m sorry—”
“No, Mother.” Jasmine held up a hand, stopping her. “I don’t want to hear any words of sympathy. I wouldn’t believe them, anyway.”
Celeste blinked, looking wounded by the accusation. “Jasmine, you’re not being fair.”
“No, I suppose I’m not,” Jasmine said, choking back a sob. “Pardon me, but I’m not feeling very gracious at the moment.”
“I love you, darling,” Celeste said, wringing her fingers. “You know I care—”
“Sometimes you care too much. You worry too much about me, Mother. It’s time you let me make my own decisions…and my own mistakes. It’s time you let me go.”
With that, she turned from her mother’s room. Refusing to look back, she escaped down the night-darkened hall. She felt weary beyond words, her feet leadened as she strode to her bedroom. Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest.
Tears blurred her vision as she fumbled with the knob. Thankfully the door finally opened and she hurried inside. Closing it behind her, she bolted the lock, in no mood to risk any more company.
With only the moon light to guide her, she stumbled to the window seat that over looked Blue Mirror Lake. A silvery glow lit the surface of the lake, shimmering like diamonds in the soft, cloudless night. In the distance she saw the outline of the mountains of Laughing Horse Reservation.
Once again, she was reminded of Storm Hunter.
She felt his presence as though he were in the room with her at that very moment. It would take a long time, perhaps forever, before she could forget the chiseled angles of his handsome face, the dark and penetrating beauty of his eyes, or the determined set of his strong chin.
A tear slid down her cheek, followed closely by another, then another. Unable to help herself, Jasmine did what she swore she would never allow. Hugging a chintz pillow to her chest, she gave into a much-needed bout of tears.
In the safety of the empty room, she mourned the loss of a man she’d never even had the right to call her own.
Chapter Five
At nine o’clock the next morning Storm paced the floor of his hotel room. The floral-papered walls were beginning to close in around him. He felt as restless as a caged animal. He’d been up and prowling for so long his foot steps were permanently imprinted on the mauve carpeting.
“Dammit, what am I supposed to do now?” he growled, his deep voice echoing hollowly in the empty room. Frustrated, he plowed long fingers through his hair, raking the dark strands from his face. Instead of focusing on what he’d come to Whitehorn to accomplish, uncovering the truth behind his brother’s murder, he’d been distracted by thoughts of a woman. Since sending Jasmine fleeing into the night, he’d been unable to relax, to sleep, to do anything but think about what a complete and utter fool he’d been. In his attempt to discourage her interest in him, he’d frightened and shamed her. While his intentions may have been honest, his delivery had been cruel.
Now guilt rested uneasily upon his shoulders.
Storm reluctantly forced his gaze to the phone. He had no choice, he realized. He had to speak to her again. He had to apologize for his behavior. If he didn’t, he would forever be haunted by the hurt, disillusioned look in her eyes.
Sighing, he glanced at the bedside clock and decided now was as good a time as any to call. Jasmine lived and worked at the B and B. Surely she’d be up and about, seeing to the needs of her guests.
His stomach tightened as he crossed the room to the night stand. He sat down heavily on the edge of the unmade bed, with its mauve and blue print bedcovers. Picking up the phone, he sucked in a breath of courage, then punched in the number for the Big Sky Bed & Break fast.
Listening to the phone ring, once, twice, three times, it suddenly occurred to him that Jasmine might not be the one to pick up the receiver. After all, she wasn’t the only member of her family working at the bed-and-breakfast. Storm tensed, unnerved by the thought. What was he supposed to say if her mother answered? Remembering Celeste’s skittish reaction to his appearance at the sheriff’s office, fainting dead in David Hannon’s arms, he doubted she would be overjoyed by his early morning call.
Before he could reconsider, the phone was picked up. “Big Sky Bed & Break fast,” a familiar voice chimed.
Relief eased the tension from his muscles. “Jasmine?”
Deafening silence was his only response.
Undaunted, he said, “Jasmine, it’s Storm Hunter.”
“I know.”
The two simple words spoke volumes as to her frame of mind. Obviously she had not forgotten, nor forgiven, what had happened between them last night.
Refusing to be discouraged, he tried again. “I’d like to talk to you.”
“I’m listening.”
He hesitated. Considering the coolness of her tone, he knew in his heart this was one apology he must make in person. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather meet with you.”
Once again silence stretched across the phone line. For a heart-stopping moment, Storm thought she’d hung up on him. “Jasmine?” he said, unable to hide the fear from his tone. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m still here.” Her soft whisper of a sigh set his senses prickling with awareness. “I’m just not sure if it would be wise for us to have any more contact, Mr. Hunter.”
Mr. Hunter. He winced at the formal use of his name. Last night, she’d called him Storm. It would seem they’d taken one step forward, two steps back. She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. Not that he deserved otherwise.
“I don’t see that we have much of a choice. I have your sweater. You left it here last night,” he countered, using any excuse within his means to see her again. He hoped he didn’t sound as anxious as he felt. “I feel I should return it to you. If you want, I could stop by the B and B—”
“No, I’ll meet you,” she said quickly. Too quickly, leaving little doubt of his welcome at her home.
But her family’s feelings toward him didn’t matter, he told himself, almost smiling his relief. What mattered was that Jasmine had finally relented; she had agreed to see him. “Just tell me when and where.”
“In an hour. There’s a lookout in the mountains overlooking Crazy Peak. It’s a popular spot with the locals. But I doubt if anyone will be there this morning.”
No, they wouldn’t. The lookout would be busy after nightfall. If memory served, it was popular with young lovers—Native American and Anglo alike—looking for a place to be alone, he mused silently. Frowning, he wondered which of her young suitors had taken her to this notorious makeout point.
Out loud, he said, “I know the place. I’ll be there in an hour.”
Without another word, Jasmine hung up the phone.
For a long moment Storm didn’t move. He listened to the tinny silence humming in his ear, until the warning beep of a disconnected phone line sounded. Only then did he return the receiver to its cradle.
Obviously, Jasmine was still upset. Rightly so.
It would take more than a simple apology to convince her of his remorse. A task that shouldn’t be hard, considering his life’s work as a lawyer hinged on his power of persuasion. Storm’s frown deepened. So, why did it feel as though he’d just taken on the toughest case of his life?
Why did he feel as though his last chance of finding peace and contentment rested on the outcome of his meeting wit
h Jasmine?
One hour later, her heart heavy with regret, Jasmine drove her Jeep into the foot hills of the Crazy Mountains. With the top down on the Wrangler, a brisk wind buffeted her skin, bringing tears to her eyes. At least that was the only excuse she allowed herself for the show of emotion. For the first time in her life, she had lied to her mother. Instead of being honest and telling her she was going to meet Storm, she had used an errand as an excuse to leave the B and B.
Lying and deceiving didn’t come easily to her. By her mother’s example, she’d been taught to live her life honestly, openly. At times, perhaps, too openly. There were those in Whitehorn who believed her family to be eccentric. The reminder brought on a familiar burr of irritation, which Jasmine forced aside. She didn’t care what others thought. She’d rather be considered odd than live her life in the rigid confines of closed-minded conformity.
The road narrowed, demanding her attention. With the ease of experience, she negotiated the steep curves. The air felt cool, thick with the scent of the pine trees that lined the road. Ever since she’d been a child, the Crazies had been her favorite place to visit. Even now, when things got too hectic in real life, she escaped to the mountains, finding peace and solace in their rugged peaks. Her mother’s explanation for her beguilement was that she’d lived a past life in the mountains, perhaps as a goat herder or a trapper.
The thought brought a reluctant smile as she considered her mother’s off-centered influence upon her life. The first year of their marriage, her parents lived in Baton Rouge. Then Celeste had convinced Ty to return to Whitehorn to raise Summer. From then on, even after Ty’s death, Celeste uniquely shaped all of their lives—hers, Cleo’s and Summer’s—by stressing the importance of free-spirited independence.
When they were old enough to toddle off on their own, Celeste had pushed them out the door to experience all the world had to offer. She’d encouraged them to think for themselves and to voice their own opinions. A philosophy that, to the chagrin of others in the community, Jasmine had embraced whole heartedly.
In first grade, wanting to be like the cowboys she’d seen on her uncle Jeremiah’s ranch, Jasmine had refused to give up her boots for a more appropriate pair of Mary Jane shoes. Only Celeste’s promise to host a class field trip on the grounds of the Blue Mirror Lake had convinced the principle to bend the rules of the dress code.
During her sophomore year in high school, the dissection of a frog had been a requirement for biology class. Appalled at the idea of such inhumane treatment of a helpless creature, Jasmine had refused to do anything so cruel. Not only had her mother applauded her decision, but Celeste and her aunt Yvette had joined her protest by holding a sit-in on the school steps. Despite their help, she’d failed the lab section of the class, ending up with C for the course. But together they had scored a victory in the name of family solidarity.
When Jasmine had blossomed into woman hood, her mother had gone beyond the usual birds-and-the-bees speech. When other mothers were blushing at the mention of sex, Celeste had left no doubt in her young daughter’s mind what a healthy relationship between a man and woman ought to be. Not only that, but she’d made sure Jasmine was aware of the methods of birth control available to her should she decide the time was right.
Instead of encouraging her to be promiscuous, her mother’s openness had left Jasmine with an over whelming sense of responsibility. She’d taken to heart the trust she’d been given, by deciding to remain a virgin until she met the man she intended to marry.
Now, at the age of twenty-three, she was still waiting for the right man.
Unbidden, Storm Hunter’s handsome image cropped up in her mind’s eye. The thought of seeing him again left her confused and uncertain. In Storm she thought she’d found that perfect man, that she was ready to take that giant step of trust. But last night in his hotel room Storm had proven to her that she wasn’t nearly as worldly as she’d like for him to believe. Nor as brave as she would have liked to have believed for herself.
He’d hurt her deeply.
Not physically so much as emotionally.
Rejection was painful, but most especially at the hands of someone such as Storm, a man with whom she’d felt such an instant and strong connection. Fresh tears pressed against her eyes. Jasmine blinked hard, fighting their release. She wasn’t sure of the reason behind Storm’s unexpected request to see her again. But one thing was for certain, her pride would never allow him to see just how much he had wounded her.
Cornering the next curve too sharply, Jasmine’s tires squealed in protest. Shifting to a lower gear, she slowed the Jeep to a more manageable speed, concentrating on the road ahead. Too soon, she arrived at her destination. Her heart thumped painfully against her breast as she pulled into the lookout’s parking lot.
Storm was waiting for her.
He stood outside his car, leaning against its silver finish. This morning he’d dressed in a pair of casual but expensively labeled jeans and a polo shirt. He wore loafers with no socks and looked as though he’d stepped off the cover of a GQ magazine. He was the perfect advertisement for the professional man at ease.
Kicking up a cloud of dust in her wake, Jasmine parked her Jeep next to his car. Letting the dust settle, she slowly unhooked her seat belt. Turning his head, he watched as she stepped down onto the graveled lot. A light wind ruffled his long hair. Mirrored sunglasses hid his expressive dark eyes from view. His chiseled face remained somber, revealing none of his emotions.
Daunted, she stopped short of joining him, leaving a small but safe distance between them. But even with that, he was so blatantly male, she couldn’t help but feel a primal pull of attraction.
For a long moment they stood staring at each other, neither seeming to know what to say. With each passing second, awareness grew inside her, until she thought she might explode with the unwanted tension.
Storm was the first to break the spell of silence. His deep voice startled her when he finally said, “Thank you for coming.”
He sounded so frank, so earnest. She almost believed he meant it…almost. His harsh rejection still echoed in her mind. Forgetting her resolve to remain aloof, she blurted, “Why did you call? After last night I thought I’d be the last person you’d want to see.”
“Last night was a mistake,” he said, slipping the sun glasses from the bridge of his nose. He tossed them through the car’s open window onto the dashboard, then pushed himself away from the door. Taking a step toward her, he held her in his gaze. “I’m not in the habit of ravishing young women. Things got out of hand. My behavior was uncalled for. I hope you’ll accept my apology. I assure you it won’t happen again.”
Jasmine felt a confusing mix of relief and disappointment. Standing here, close enough that she could almost touch him, she couldn’t deny that she was still deeply attracted to him. Yet, looking into his expressive eyes, she saw nothing but sincerity in their depths. She believed him when he said things had gotten out of hand. Unfortunately, she also believed him when he said it wouldn’t happen again.
Still, a part of her wasn’t ready to settle for just an apology. Last night he’d acted as though he’d wanted to punish her, to punish himself for wanting her. Once and for all she needed to know why.
“Why are you so determined to dislike me?”
Emotion flickered in his eyes. Averting his gaze, he stared out at the scenic mountain view, watching as clouds scudded past the white-tipped peaks. He remained silent for so long, she thought he’d decided not to answer. Until he inhaled a deep breath, then released it with a whistling sigh. “It’s not that I dislike you. It’s that—” He stopped, his jaw clenching reflexively. A tiny vein pulsed at his temple. Still unable to face her, he continued, “Too much has happened between our families. Our pasts are connected in a way that makes it impossible for us to do anything but remain on opposite sides. I’m sure you must realize this.”
Jasmine’s breath caught painfully in her throat. She wanted to argue, but could
n’t find the words. Perhaps he was right. Theirs was a dark history, one that couldn’t easily be forgotten. Making amends now, after all that had happened, seemed too little, too late.
Unwilling to give up, she said, “We weren’t the ones to start the feud between our families. Why should we keep it alive after all this time?”
He looked at her, his gaze so direct, so penetrating, she felt as though he could see inside to her very soul. “My brother died because he fell in love with the wrong woman, a white woman. I’m not going to make the same mistake.”
Jasmine met his gaze, unable to look away. She considered his answer, deciding if they’d come this far, she couldn’t turn back now. Steeling herself for his condemnation, she stated the obvious. “You blame me and my family for your brother’s death.”
She saw the flash of pain in his eyes. Lying badly, he said, “I don’t know who’s responsible for Raven’s death. Because of the circumstances surrounding his murder, we may never know the truth. And for that reason, I’m afraid my brother’s soul will never find peace.”
“Circumstances? You mean justice won’t be served because there may be a Kincaid involved?”
Storm’s lips formed a thin, tight line. He refused to answer.
But he didn’t have to. They both knew the truth. The Kincaid name was a powerful influence in this area. Powerful enough to put a murder investigation into permanent limbo, if the motivation was great enough. No matter how much wealth he may have acquired since leaving town, or how many connections he might have made as a lawyer in New Mexico, they both knew Storm’s reputation meant nothing here in Whitehorn.
“I can’t tell you who is or who’s not involved,” he said, his tone sounding defeated. “I can’t get close enough to the investigation to find out the truth.”
Jasmine felt his frustration as though it were her own. Her heart swelled with compassion for the pain she saw in his eyes. She blamed herself and her family for putting him through this turmoil. There was only one solution. One way to end his suffering, once and for all.
Storming Whitehorn Page 6