by Lisa Jackson
“Now hold on—”
“Don’t try to talk me out of it,” she said firmly. Her mind was made up, her eyes glittering fiercely with standing tears. “It’s time.”
“Just because—”
“It’s time,” she said again. She turned on her heel before her emotions got the better of her. Willing the sobs in her heart to stop, she took the stairs two at a time and dashed into her room—Denver’s parents’ room.
She dragged out her old suitcase, the same suitcase she’d tried to pack on that humid summer night—the night Denver had returned. The very suitcase she’d taken with her to California.
Dear God, how did I let this happen?
“Don’t,” she told herself, refusing to think of aquamarine water, white beach and Denver. Always Denver. “He’s not worth it!”
As she banged open the bureau drawers, she caught a glimpse of her red-rimmed eyes, her straggling hair, her pale cheeks. Furious with herself, she tossed her clothes recklessly into the tattered old case.
“Tess?”
Oh Lord, not now. She couldn’t stand her father’s pity. “I’ll be down in a minute,” she called, her fingers fumbling with the locks on her case.
He pushed open the door. Wearily, he surveyed the room. “Where you plannin’ to go?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Sure it does.”
“Alaska, then. Or Brazil. Or Singapore. I really don’t know, and I sure as hell don’t care!” she lied.
He sat heavily on the edge of the bed. It groaned beneath his weight. “It’s not like you to quit.”
“I’m not quitting, Dad. I was defeated.” She held her palms out, silently pleading with him. “Don’t try to talk me out of this.”
“That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” Offering her a gentle smile that would have broken her heart if it hadn’t been broken already, he said, “You didn’t give up on me, did you?”
“Of course not. But what—”
“I haven’t had a drink in three days.” He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Though, I got to admit, it feels more like three hundred. I’m goin’ to my first A.A. meeting on Tuesday.”
She swallowed hard and blinked against fresh tears. Would she ever stop crying? “Good for you,” she murmured. “I knew you could do it.”
“Not without you I couldn’t.”
“I had nothing to do with it.”
He stared at her old suitcase. “You know, if you leave, I might just reach for the nearest bottle.”
“Nah.” She shook her head, sniffing. “Not you. Not when you set your mind to something.”
“That’s what I thought about you.”
“Oh, Dad, I’m just so tired of fighting.” Her throat clogged even tighter when she witnessed the naked pain in her father’s eyes. She had promised herself she would never cry for Denver again, but she couldn’t seem to stop.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Denver bought the horses, Dad. He bought Brigadier and Ebony and even Red Wing. Right out from under my nose! He plans to use them here, on this ranch, for his own profit. You were right. Denver never intended to sell this place to me. Never. I was stupid and crazy and just plain dumb to have listened to him.”
She heard the screen door slam downstairs. Yanking her bag from the bed, she said, “I don’t want to explain this all to Mitch, all right? He wouldn’t understand.” She started for the door, but her father caught her wrist in his gnarled fingers.
“You can’t just run, Tess.”
“Watch me.”
“At least stay at my place for the night. You’re upset. You need time to think things through. Sometimes things are a lot clearer in the morning.”
“That’s the problem, Dad. Things are too clear already.” She heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and yanked her hand from her father’s grasp. She had to get out now, before she changed her mind.
She took two steps just as he strode in.
“Look, Mitch, I’ve got to—” Her eyes clashed with Denver McLean’s curious blue gaze. Big as life, his expression guarded, he blocked the door. “Oh, no,” she whispered, wanting to shrink away from the magnetism in his blue eyes, from the handsome angles of his face. He looked tired and drawn, his hair long against his collar, his features more gaunt than she remembered. Despite the pain, despite the anger, despite the fact that he’d wounded her shamelessly and she was still bleeding deep inside, she felt an overwhelming urge to run to him, to suffer any ridicule, to feel his arms wrap around her again.
Denver’s gaze darted from Tessa to Curtis and back again.
“What’re you doing here?” she whispered, her pride surfacing. “Don’t you have some horses to steal, some old men to beat down or a woman to stomp on?”
His gaze fastened to the fury in hers. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice so low, she barely heard it.
“You tell me.”
“It looks like you’re leaving.”
“I am.”
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so.” Dressed in a wrinkled shirt and slacks, his jaw dark with three days’ growth of beard, his eyes sunken, he looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week. Tessa told herself she didn’t care. It didn’t matter what he’d been through. He’d betrayed her, and any pain or remorse he might have suffered wasn’t enough. It couldn’t match the wretchedness slicing wickedly through her own heart.
“Why don’t you start over,” he suggested, “and tell me what this”—he motioned to her bag—“is all about?”
“It’s simple. This place is yours, Denver,” she replied coldly. “All of it. The horses, the machinery, the house and even the ridge! I don’t want any part of it.” Holding her chin rock solid, swallowing back hot, tormented tears, she tried to breeze past him, but he blocked the door.
“Wait a minute—where’re you going?”
“Singapore or Brazil, wasn’t it?” Curtis interjected, standing, trying to place himself squarely between his daughter and the man in the door.
Tessa said firmly, “I can handle this on my own, Dad.”
“Just tryin’ to help out.”
“Thanks, but this is my problem.”
“What problem?” Denver demanded, scowling savagely. “What the hell’s going on here?”
“Move, McLean,” Curtis said.
Denver refused to budge. His hard gaze landed on Tessa. “You and I have to talk.”
“Too late.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m leaving, Denver. There’s not much to chat about!” She tried to squeeze past him.
He caught her wrist in his hard fingers, stepped quickly out of the door and met Curtis’s gaze. “I’d like to speak to Tessa. Alone.”
“Whatever it is you have to say, McLean, you can say to me.”
“This is private.”
Tessa’s heart somersaulted. Denver’s fingers tightened possessively over her wrist. “I can handle this, Dad,” she said, her eyes as bright and furious as Denver’s.
Curtis hesitated at the door, eyeing them both and shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. “I don’t think—”
“I’ll be fine,” Tessa insisted. Now was her chance to tell Denver what a bastard he was, and she might not get another.
“All right,” Curtis said reluctantly, his old face grim. “But I’ll be in the kitchen.” His lips pressed together until they showed white and he jabbed a gnarled finger at Denver’s chest. “You’ve got fifteen minutes, McLean. Then I’m back up here and you’re through with my daughter for good.”
He pulled himself to his full five foot eight and glared up at Denver. “Fifteen minutes.” Scrabbling in his breast pocket for his cigarettes, he turned and left the room.
“Okay, Denver, what is it?”
“You tell me. Why the hell are you leaving?”
“Why the hell do you care?”
“You’re the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met.”
; “Good!”
With a growl, Denver kicked the door closed. It banged shut. Windows rattled in their casings and the whole house jarred. Tessa jumped. He clicked the lock into place. “I don’t want to be disturbed,” he said, when she started to protest.
His face muscles were tight, strained with leashed fury that sparked like blue flames in his eyes. Wrenching her arm, he nearly threw her into a chair and stood only inches in front of it, his arms crossed over his chest, his shirt stretched so tight at the shoulders the seams threatened to split. “Now, Tessa, you tell me just what’s going on here.”
“What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re taking a hike.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Why?” she repeated, incredulous. If nothing else, Denver had gall. She’d give him that much. But no more. “Because of you, Denver. Because of all the things you are and most certainly because of the things you aren’t!”
“And what’s that?”
“Honest.”
“You’re talking about honesty?” he said. “What about you? I spend the past week and a half going through hell for you and you’re ready to walk out on me.”
“Me walk out on you!” She leaped to her feet, tilting her head upward to meet the fury in his eyes. “Me walk out on you?” Laughing brittlely, she said, “You’re the one who left me. You didn’t call, didn’t write, and now you’re buying back my horses, my horses behind my back.”
“Hold on a minute—”
“Why haven’t you called?”
“I tried.”
“Once.”
“It was difficult,” he hedged.
“I’ll bet. And why didn’t you show up, if for no other reason than to sign the papers at the bank?”
“I had problems. That’s why I called. There was an emergency.”
“Emergency? What? Did you find some other woman to put through an emotional wringer—accuse her and her family of horrid deeds and then buy her most precious possessions behind her back?”
“Is—is that what you think?”
“What else?” she jeered, wanting to hurt him as much as he’d wounded her. “Did you have to take a trip to Disneyland?”
His eyes narrowed angrily. “A little farther away than Disneyland.”
“I don’t really care!”
“By several thousand miles.”
“Save it, Denver.”
“I went to Ireland, Tess. Northern Ireland.”
“Ireland?” she repeated dubiously, but some of her anger was already weakening as she guessed the answer. An icy chill ran down her spine. Colton! Denver had gone looking for Colton!
“That’s right,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “I wanted to find my brother and convince him to come back here and sign the papers.”
“No way.”
“I just got a little sidetracked,” he said.
“I’ll bet.”
Every muscle in his body coiled, and his lips thinned angrily.
She couldn’t help goading him. “You expect me to believe that you flew all the way to Ireland to ask Colton to sell this place to me, when you didn’t even call, didn’t send a note, didn’t so much as leave a message?” A traitorous part longed to believe him, wished that he could take away the pain of the past few weeks, that they could pick up where they’d left off, but she wouldn’t let him fool her—not this time. Too much was at stake.
“That’s what happened.”
“I—I don’t believe you.”
“And just what do you think went on?”
“I think you’ve been conning me, Denver. This was all just a game to you. You don’t have to deny it, because it just won’t work. I’m done listening to your stupid lies.”
“Lies?” he bellowed, sweeping her into his arms furiously, every muscle straining. He yanked her close against his rock-hard body, his nose nearly touching hers, his breath fanning her face, his eyes narrow slits. His fingers dug into her forearms. “The only lies I’ve told are to other people—people like my brother—to protect you!”
“Save it for someone who’ll believe it.”
His grip tightened. “I’m not lying, damn it!” Raw energy flowed from his body to hers—she could feel the anger coiling deep within him.
Tessa glared at him. “You never intended to sell this place to me! If you wanted to reach me, you could have. Instead you called Nate Edwards and bought my horses back so you could use them here.”
“Why would I do that?” he growled.
“You tell me.”
“Okay, I will!” Blue fire sizzled in his eyes. “Just after you left, I got a call from the private investigator.”
“In Northern Ireland.”
“Yes. He was worried about Colton. He’d spoken to him once and knew he was in trouble.”
“So you flew over there?” she asked, doubting him.
“Yes, damn it. I went to Northern Ireland to find him and bring him back here to sign the papers. The trouble was, we didn’t get that far because someone strolled into this cozy little bar and started taking potshots!” His eyes had grown cold, his face white beneath the black stubble of his beard.
“Don’t lie, Denver!” But she’d begun to believe him, despite the voice in her mind that reminded her how often he’d lied.
His fingers clenched and he gave her a little shake. “That’s what happened, Tess.”
“I can’t believe—”
“Because you won’t!” The fingers digging into her flesh suddenly gave way.
“Why should I?” she demanded.
“Because it’s the truth. Oh, hell.” He shoved his hair out of his eyes impatiently and closed his eyes, as if trying to control his temper. He seemed weary and wrung out.
Seconds ticked by. Tessa edged toward the door.
When he spoke again, his voice was low—almost gentle. “You and I both know the kind of work he does, how he thrives on danger.”
That much was true.
“Someone was trying to kill him.”
She felt numb inside. “Why?”
He shook his head, his broad shoulders slumping. “I’m not really sure. No one would tell me the whole story and I don’t think the authorities have everything pieced together—at least not yet. I had a hell of a time leaving the country.” Denver stretched wearily, shoving his shirtsleeves over his forearms as he did.
“Go on,” she said, disgusted with herself for even listening. He was a liar, a cheat, a man who had found her pride and stomped all over it—
“As Dunkirk—he’s the private investigator Ross hired—figured it, someone must have blown Colton’s cover. Colton was in pretty tight with the IRA and had managed to take a few photos they wouldn’t want published.”
“So the IRA had him shot.”
“Or the other side, posing as revolutionaries—”
“I don’t want to hear this,” she whispered, holding up her palms and shaking her head. “This is too bizarre.” She reached for her suitcase. Denver kicked it across the room. It slammed against the wall, springing open.
“Just hear me out, Tessa,” he said, blue eyes flaming again.
She set her jaw, eyeing her suitcase dolefully. “Get on with it.” She couldn’t let herself believe him—not again. Not ever. But inside she was wavering. She had to get out fast—before he worked his treacherous magic on her all over again. She noticed the muscles flexing in his face and had to tear her eyes from his strong profile. Unnerved, her breath already whispering through her lungs, she clenched one fist around the molded brass of her bed and with her back to him, stared out the window. “I don’t have all night,” she reminded him.
“Right. You’re on your way out.”
She swallowed back a hot retort.
He stepped closer to her. The floorboards creaked. Tessa’s every nerve ending fluttered as he spoke so quietly she had to strain to hear.
“The upshot is that one side—God only knows which�
�decided to use him for target practice. Probably as an example.”
“While you were there?”
He didn’t answer, but she understood from his silence that he had witnessed his brother being gunned down.
“If you don’t believe me, you could call St. Mary’s Hospital in Belfast.”
“Oh, God—” She felt as if she might be sick. Denver wouldn’t lie about this. He couldn’t. She could find out the truth too easily. Images swam before her eyes—Colton McLean, a handsome if bitter man, stretched out in a pool of blood. Denver crouching over him—in danger himself. Her hands shook, her insides roiled, and she forced herself to gaze up at Denver. “Is—is he all right?” she asked.
“He’ll live.”
Nauseated, she sank onto the edge of the bed. Her entire body was trembling. She could tell from his harsh expression, the tension radiating from his rigid muscles, that he was reliving that awful moment. Remorse tore at her soul. She felt like an utter idiot for a whole new set of reasons. “How badly was he hurt?”
“His shoulder will give him some trouble for a while.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling with genuine regret. If only she could call back the ugly words—if only she had trusted him more! How could she have stood there so damned self-righteously accusing him?
“We all are.”
“Will he come back here?”
“As soon as he’s released from the hospital and able to travel. My guess is that he’ll show up in the next week or two.”
“I owe you an apology,” she said, her chin wobbling. “But you should have called.”
“I couldn’t. The authorities were highly suspicious of me. They grilled me for days.”
“Why?”
“Because someone tried to kill my brother, as well as anyone else who happened to get in the way, only a few hours after I showed up. It looked a little too coincidental.”
“I see.”
“You believe me?”
Her throat so tight it ached, she whispered, “Yes—well, almost.”
“Thank God for small favors.” He dropped onto her bed, then sagged against the pillows. “I haven’t slept in days.” Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. Black lashes swept the hollow circles over his cheeks.