Backlash

by Lisa Jackson

“You still want to buy the ranch, don’t you?” he asked and her spirits dropped. “I’ll call Ross and tell him to find some way for me to sell my part of the ranch to you.”

  “I thought you couldn’t do that without Colton’s consent.”

  Denver frowned. “There’s got to be some provision—some loophole. Ross is a lawyer. It’s up to him to figure it out. That’s what he gets paid to do.”

  “Of course,” she said sadly. “Well, I guess I’d better make sure I’ve packed everything,” she said, her heart sinking at the thought of leaving.

  “Or you could stay,” he invited, leisurely tracing the column of her throat.

  She shuddered, torn. All she’d ever wanted was Denver—on any terms. But now she realized he’d have to meet her halfway. One-sided love always died.

  “No, Denver,” she finally said, meeting his gaze dry-eyed, though the prospect of separating from him loomed dark in her horizon. “I have to go back.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mitchell was waiting at the airport. Shaved and dressed in clean slacks and a cotton shirt, a crisp Stetson pushed back on his head, he waved to Tessa as she pulled her suitcase from the baggage carousel. “I’ll take that,” he offered, eyeing her closely. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, struggling with a smile.

  “You don’t look fine.” Mitchell took her bag and slung one arm familiarly over her shoulders.

  “Thanks a lot.” She blew a strand of reddish-blond hair from her eyes as they wended through the crowded terminal. Mitchell showed her the way to the old pickup and held the door for her. “What’s going on?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Why?”

  “The last time you opened a door for me was in high school. You wanted me to write a report on Macbeth or something.”

  “You’re a jaded woman, Tessa Kramer,” he said, his green eyes glinting in the afternoon sun.

  “And you’re holding out on me.” She tapped her fingers on the sunbaked dash until he climbed into the cab, flicked on the ignition and threaded the old truck through the traffic in the parking lot. Tessa stared out the dusty windshield. “What’s been going on while I’ve been gone?”

  “Denver called.”

  “Today?” She snapped her head around, eyeing her brother.

  “Just before I left. He thought you’d be home. He didn’t know your flight was delayed in Salt Lake.”

  “And you did?”

  “I called the airport and found out there were mechanical difficulties with your connecting flight.” He grinned at her and winked. “I’m smarter than I look.”

  “Good thing,” she teased, trying to keep the mood light, though she sensed something was wrong. “What did Denver want?”

  “To talk to you. He said he probably won’t come back here as soon as he’d originally planned.”

  “No?” Dread stole into her soul. Deep in her heart she’d feared that he would leave her again. Maybe their weekend in California had been a diversion for him and nothing more. But she hadn’t expected his rejection so quickly. The force of it washed over her in an ice-cold shower of reality. Her hands curled into fists and she tried to drive the ugly thoughts aside. “Why not?”

  “He didn’t say,” Mitchell said, driving through town and stepping on the gas. “I guess something came up.”

  “He must have told you something.”

  Mitchell frowned. “He said he’d call back as soon as he could.”

  Relief chased her fears away. “Did he say when?”

  Mitchell’s lips compressed and his fingers tightened over the wheel. “The conversation wasn’t all that long.”

  “Why not?”

  Mitchell stared through the dusty glass to the road ahead. “You may as well hear it all, I suppose. Dad answered the phone.”

  “So?”

  “He wasn’t in very good shape, if you know what I mean.”

  “He was drunk.”

  Mitchell’s jaw clamped shut. He didn’t look at Tessa. “He’d had a few. And he told McLean just what he thought of you going to California.”

  Tessa groaned. “How bad did it get?”

  “Bad. Dad wasn’t crazy about you flying off to L.A. with Denver, or any man for that matter, I suppose. The fact that it was McLean only made things worse. By the time I got on the phone, Dad had told Denver what he thought and then some. Dad was red in the face and Denver wasn’t very communicative.”

  “Great,” Tessa murmured.

  “He’ll call back,” Mitchell said without much conviction. “And when he does, just make sure you answer the phone.”

  “I will.” Leaning her head against the window, she sighed and said, “We’ve got to talk to Dad, you know.”

  Mitchell’s shoulders stiffened. “About what?”

  “You know what. His drinking. He needs help.”

  “I’ve talked until I’m blue in the face. It doesn’t help.”

  “Something’s got to. Not only is it unhealthy, but it’s dangerous.” She swallowed against a lump forming in her throat. “It won’t be easy, but we’ve got to help him.”

  “He drinks because of the fire, damn it! Everyone blamed him, the town was against him, Colton and Denver all but accused him of murder.”

  “He drank before the fire, Mitch. We both know it. When they pulled him out of the stables, he was out cold, and it wasn’t just from the smoke.”

  Mitch tossed her an angry glare. “You’re beginning to sound like a McLean.”

  “I’m not—”

  “A few days in California and Denver’s got you convinced that Dad started the fire, Dad’s got a drinking problem and Dad was ripping off the ranch,” he grumbled, the back of his neck dark with rage. “Just remember who stuck by you, Tess. When you were torn apart. Where was McLean?”

  Tessa clamped her mouth shut and seethed in silence.

  Mitchell cranked down the window. Cool air swept into the warm cab. “The only other things that have happened on the ranch are that one of the tractors broke down—the clutch went out, and there are a couple of calves that turned up sick. I think they might have gotten into something—probably turpentine poisoning. Several branches from a pine tree near the barn blew down and the calves got into the needles. I called Craig Fulton and he said he’d be over as soon as he could.”

  “How serious?” Tessa asked.

  “Not too bad, but I can’t tell.” He glanced at her. “Look, I’m sorry I got on you about McLean, but that guy has a way of getting under my skin.”

  Mine, too, Tessa thought, sighing. Mine, too.

  * * *

  Before she changed, Tessa thought she’d check on the two sick calves. She found them in a corner of the barn, lying on straw, rolling eyes up at her as she entered. “How’re you?” she asked, rubbing her hand along one ruddy hide.

  The calf bawled, his head drooping, but he struggled to his feet. As well as she could, she examined him, noting that though he was listless, he seemed sturdy. The other calf, a heifer, was worse. She barely moved when Tessa examined her. “Come on,” Tessa said, rubbing the heifer’s white face. “Hang in there.”

  Dusting her hands, Tessa walked toward the south end of the barn, but stopped as the odor of stale liquor filtered through smells of horses, cows and dust.

  Then she saw him. Lying facedown on a bale of straw, an empty bottle dangling from the fingers of one outstretched arm, her father, dead to the world, snored loudly.

  “Oh, no!” Tessa whispered, swallowing hard. “Dad, no.” She touched him gently on the shoulder.

  He didn’t move.

  “Wake up, Dad,” she said, shaking him. Why couldn’t she help him? Why couldn’t he help himself? What demon possessed him that forced him to seek comfort in a bottle of Scotch?

  Her stomach tightened painfully.

  He snorted.

  “For God’s sake, Dad,” she muttered, hauling him to a sitting position before shaking his shoulders so that his eyes rolled open and he co
ughed.

  “What the devil?” he growled, rousing a little. He shoved her hands aside. Wincing and squinting one eye, he grumbled loudly. “Wha—what’s goin’ on?”

  Tessa sat on the edge of a nearby bale. “My guess is that you passed out.”

  “What time is it?”

  “About eight-thirty.”

  Curtis let out a long whistle and winced a little as he sat up. “I just came in to feed the stock . . .” he said, but avoided her eyes and dropped the bottle in an empty oak cask that had been shoved against the wall. His grizzled jaw hardened and he rubbed his chin. “Looks like I overdid it a mite.”

  “More than a mite.”

  “Maybe.” He rubbed his forehead, then pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as if to ward off a tremendous headache. “It’s McLean’s fault. He called and got me all riled.” Blinking rapidly, he fixed his eyes on his daughter. “So now you’re back from California.” Sighing loudly, he asked, “What’s gotten into you, Tessa? Taking off for three days and nights with Denver McLean. Living with him just like you were married! It’s a good thing your mother’s not alive.”

  She inhaled sharply, wounded by his words. “My relationship with Denver has nothing to do with you.”

  “I’m the one that raised you—taught you right from wrong.”

  “I haven’t done anything wrong,” Tessa said.

  Curtis squinted. “That’s probably a matter of opinion. Look at you.” He wagged a finger at her linen skirt, silk blouse and leather pumps. “You already look different-like those damned mannequins you see on a Hollywood game show.”

  “I haven’t changed, Dad, and I didn’t come in here to fight about Denver,” she said slowly, biting back the urge to scream that she loved Denver McLean. “I came to talk about you.”

  “Me?”

  Tessa sat on the bale next to him. “You’ve got a problem, Dad. With this.” She reached into the oak cask and withdrew the bottle.

  “A problem? Me?” He barked a short, uncomfortable laugh. “No way. Sure, I have a drink now and then—”

  “Every day. And it’s not just one drink.” She saw the pain in his eyes, the despair, and she had to fight to keep talking. Her own insides were shredding. This man had raised her and Mitchell alone, had done everything he could to give them a good life, had provided for them and cared for them when their mother died. He’d been mother, father, provider and friend—at least he had been until that horrid night when the stables were engulfed in flames.

  Curtis’s already flushed face reddened, his watery gaze drifted away from hers. “So now you’re tellin’ me how to run my life,” he whispered, running one work-roughened hand over the worn denim covering his knee.

  Tessa’s eyes burned. “I only want to help,” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder.

  He flinched. “You’ve been listening to McLean.”

  “No—”

  “Then why now, Tessa? Huh? Why now—right when you’re fresh off the plane from Los Angeles and Denver McLean!” He eyed her speculatively. “And just when is he coming back here? Let’s hope it’s soon. Then he can sign the papers and we can all be rid of him.”

  “It’s not that easy,” Tessa said.

  “Why not?”

  “No one’s heard from Colton.”

  “Bah! If you ask me, Denver’s just stringin’ you along. If he wanted to sell his part of this ranch, he’d be on the phone to his lawyer in a minute. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  “Denver’s already called Ross.”

  “Has he now? Does that mean he is or isn’t coming back here?”

  “I don’t know,” Tessa said. “Maybe you can tell me. He called, and you talked to him.”

  “It wasn’t much of a conversation.” Curtis shook his head, then reached into his jacket pocket, searching for cigarettes. He pulled out the pack, found it empty and crumpled it in his fist. “All he said was that he’s been delayed. There was some kind of emergency.”

  “Emergency? What happened?”

  “He didn’t bother sayin’. If ya ask me, it was an excuse—a way to avoid comin’ back here.” His gaze turned sad and some of the fire left his eyes. He looked suddenly old and weary. “You know, Tess, there’s a chance McLean’s double-crossing you.”

  “Double-crossing me?”

  “I’m just pointing out the facts,” he said, his weathered face softening. “Doesn’t it seem strange that he showed up just after John’s funeral, stuck around long enough to find out what was going on—just to make sure the ranch was on its feet—and then took off?”

  “He had work in California—”

  “Sure he did. But my guess is that he found out you’d turned this ranch around, that it’s making a profit, and he’s decided there’s no reason to sell.”

  She wouldn’t believe it. “I went back with him.”

  “And now you’re here alone,” he pointed out. “Denver’s called, already made up an excuse about not bein’ able to come back here.”

  Her lungs felt tight and some of her old fears took a stranglehold on her heart. “You think he used me.”

  Curtis’s eyes shifted to the hay-strewn floor. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “No!” Her small fist clenched. She wouldn’t believe that Denver had so callously and calculatingly seduced her! They had shared too many wonderful days and nights for it all to have been a lie. “Denver lov—cares for me.”

  Tears filled the corners of her father’s eyes. “If you say so, Tess,” he said, his voice raw. He touched her hair and sighed. “You’re too good for him, you know. Too damned good.”

  “Denver doesn’t want this ranch,” she pointed out, trying to come up with reasons, explanations, excuses, anything to refute her father’s accusations. Denver loved her—though he’d never said it. He had to!

  “Maybe he changed his mind,” Curtis said. “I checked the books—we’re not in bad shape. In fact, this ranch is in the black. Think on it, Tessa,” her father whispered, his old eyes squinting thoughtfully. “Why should he sell to you, when he could probably run the place from L.A. and make a handsome profit?”

  “Because he gave me his word!”

  The door to the barn swung open and Mitchell, his hands and shirt black with grease, entered. “The clutch is shot on the John Deere. I think we’ll need to—” As if seeing Tessa for the first time, he stopped and glanced from his sister to his father. “What’s going on here? Why haven’t you changed?”

  “We were just discussing Denver McLean,” Curtis said.

  “So we’re back to him again, are we?” Eyeing his sister cautiously, Mitch leaned casually against the manger. “Don’t tell me—you’re defending McLean and Dad won’t buy it?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, you know where I stand.”

  “Stay out of this, Mitch,” she warned. “We’ve been over it before.”

  Mitchell wiped a grimy hand over his brow, leaving a streak of grease. “Maybe someone should remind you that McLean doesn’t have what you’d refer to as a sterling track record.”

  “Enough!” she shouted. She wouldn’t listen to these lies a minute longer.

  Her father sighed. “Mitch’s right. Now that Denver knows this place is worth more than he originally thought, why wouldn’t he try to sell it to a higher bidder?”

  “Because we had an agreement,” she said testily.

  “In writing?” Mitchell asked.

  “No, but—”

  “Don’t tell me,” Mitch cut in. “He promised to sell the land to you, convince Colton to do the same, and then, once his brother was out of the picture, he’d come back, marry you and hand you your money back.”

  “Of course not!” she blurted, though deep in her heart, Mitch’s scenario was just what she’d hoped for.

  “Tessa,” Mitch said softly, spreading his hands. “Open your eyes.”

  “I have!”

  Pity stretched a
cross Mitch’s features. “Oh, Tess—”

  Tessa wanted to run from the barn. Her words sounded strangled and forced. “Don’t ‘Oh, Tess,’ me—okay? Things are going to work out just fine!”

  “I hope so,” Mitch said fervently. “I just don’t see how. You know, there’s a chance Denver won’t locate his brother. Or that Colton won’t come back here. He’s got himself a hot-shot photography job all full of glitter and danger. He won’t want to come back.”

  “But he might sell.”

  “And he might not.”

  Tessa’s world was breaking apart. If only Denver were here! If only her brother and father could see the real Denver, the man hidden deep beneath his scars from the fire. And yet, her family’s accusations held a ring of truth. Inside, her heart was shredding. Hot tears clogged her throat. “You two are as bad as Denver and Colton,” she accused, her voice a whisper. “You don’t trust them, and they don’t trust you.”

  “So whose side are you on?” Mitch asked.

  “Believe it or not, there don’t have to be sides.”

  “Oh, Tess, grow up. This isn’t some female fantasy.” She gasped, feeling as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. Hadn’t Denver said just the same thing—hadn’t he accused her of being a dreamer, a hopeless romantic? Sick inside, she ran from the barn, leaving her family and their horrid accusations of Denver behind. She’d call Denver, and if he didn’t answer, she’d call his office. If that didn’t work, she’d call Jim Van Stern. Once she heard from Denver everything would be all right.

  Desperate, she ran into the house and dialed Denver’s number in Venice. The phone rang twelve times before she hung up. It was late, but she called Denver’s engineering firm. A tape machine answered on the third ring. She left a message for Denver and told herself not to worry. She’d hear from him in the morning.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Kramer, but all I know is that Denver took off in a hurry. He left a message on the recorder and said that he’d call in as soon as possible. I assumed he was in Montana,” Jim Van Stern said over the hum of the long distance connection.

  Tessa’s heart sank and the headache behind her eyes began to throb.

  “Have you called his attorney in Helena?” Jim asked. “I don’t know all the details, but he was hell-bent to sell the ranch. I just assumed this had something to do with the sale.”