Backlash

by Lisa Jackson

  Realizing that he might drift off, she had to ask a question that still nagged at her. “You managed to get through to Ross Anderson, but you didn’t call me.”

  “I called Ross before I left for Belfast.”

  “So why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I tried to call. You weren’t here. No one was.” Blinking slowly, he forced his eyes open. “Besides, I wanted to surprise you.”

  “You managed that,” she admitted, her fingers quivering as she brushed his hair from his eyes and tried to smooth the wrinkles from his brow. “I wanted to kill you.”

  “You and that idiot in Ireland.”

  “Did they catch him?”

  Denver shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He took her hand in his. “I guess I really blew it, handled the horse deal all wrong. I just didn’t want you to sell stock. Those horses mean too much to you.”

  “I can’t believe this,” she murmured. Recognizing the lines of strain around his mouth, the weariness in his eyes, she almost trusted him again. Slowly, she pressed her lips to his cheek.

  “Believe, Tessa.”

  “I want to—” Oh God, was she baring her soul to him again?

  “Did I hurt you that badly?” he asked softly as he draped one arm around her waist, holding her close. The nearness of him, his smell and touch, caused her skin to tingle, her heart to race. “After the fire—did I hurt you that badly?”

  Shuddering, she shut her eyes. “I was okay.”

  “Were you?” Levering himself onto one elbow, he pushed gently on her shoulder. She fell back against the pillows.

  “I did this all for us, you know. I bought the horses and told Ross I wouldn’t sign any real estate papers because I thought I’d come back here and marry you. I thought we could straighten everything out.”

  Her heart lurched, missing a beat. “How?” she asked, her palms beginning to sweat. She couldn’t risk believing him again. Not completely. Not when it came to matters of the heart. She was too vulnerable. Just because he mentioned marriage wasn’t any reason to run back to him, believe anything he said.

  “I already talked to my partner. I’m thinking of splitting off—maybe starting a consulting firm in Helena.”

  “You’d hate living here.”

  “Maybe not. I had a lot of time to think things over in Northern Ireland. I did some serious soul-searching.”

  “And what did you find out?”

  He cocked his head to the far wall, where her suitcase had landed. “That I want to be with you. No matter where you are.”

  She sniffed, her pulse leaping, her eyes shining.

  “This ranch is only important if you’re here. If you’re leaving—so am I.”

  “And if I’m not?” she asked, twisting to face him. Her long hair fell over his arm, red-gold tresses spilling over wrinkled white cotton.

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “Then I stay.”

  She swallowed hard. “Is—is this some kind of a proposal?”

  His gaze flicked from her eyes to her lips and back again.

  Tessa’s breath lodged deep in her throat.

  “What do you think?” he asked, pushing up on his elbows, placing trembling lips against the side of her neck.

  Her pulse played hopscotch. “I think I’m crazy to even consider it.” But she leaned back, twining her arms around his neck, feeling his thick dark hair brush her fingers.

  “Let me be the judge of that.” His breath whispered across her face.

  “What about the fire?” she asked quietly.

  His grin twisted wickedly. “It’s getting hotter by the second.” Lazily, he kissed her. As if they had all the time in the world. Maybe they did.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “I know.” He covered her mouth with his and all thoughts of the past escaped her. Once again she was caught in the feel of him, the here and now, the promise of the future. The past, the fire, were but a distant memory.

  A hungry warmth, deep and primal, uncoiled deep inside of her, spreading in radiant waves to her limbs.

  She moaned, moving anxiously against him.

  “Don’t you want to see your horses? They’re probably on their way,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose and grinning.

  “I’ll wait.”

  “What about your father? Curtis should be back here any minute.”

  “Don’t remind me,” she groaned, moving reluctantly away from him. He caught her arm, yanked her back and pressed hot, eager lips to hers. Immediately, she turned liquid.

  “That’s just to remind you that I missed you.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  “And I love you, Tess,” he said, his words husky and raw. “I always have.”

  “Oh, Denver. I love you, too!” she cried, letting her tears flow as she held him close, blinking rapidly and wishing this moment would never end.

  A hard rap sounded on the door. “Tessa?” her father asked, his voice heavy with concern. “You in there?”

  “I’m okay, Dad.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.” She glanced into Denver’s eyes.

  “She’d better be, McLean!”

  Tessa smothered the urge to giggle. “Maybe we should go wait for the horses,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t want my father to get the right idea about us.”

  Denver’s grin slashed across his face. “Not until you promise to marry me.”

  “Oh?” she asked, her eyebrows shooting skyward, the gloom in her heart disappearing. “And what are you going to do if I don’t?”

  “Hold you prisoner until you beg for mercy.”

  “Sounds interesting,” she teased.

  “Doesn’t it?” He gazed deep in her eyes. “But I don’t think your father would approve.”

  “Probably not, but he won’t approve of the marriage either.”

  “Maybe I can change his mind.”

  She laughed. “If you can, you’ll be the first.”

  “Watch me.” He slapped her fondly on her rear.

  “I will.” She rolled off the bed and landed lithely on her feet. Denver was right behind her.

  She unlocked the door, but before she could open it, he slammed it shut with the flat of his hand.

  “One more thing,” he said.

  “What’s that?” She turned and regarded him through a veil of gold-tipped lashes.

  “About the fire.”

  Here it comes, she thought frantically, bracing herself. This was too good to be true! She leaned heavily against the cool panels of the door. “I thought we were through discussing the fire.”

  “Almost. But I thought I should explain.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Shh.” He placed a finger to her lips, tracing her pout. “Just listen. I put everything into perspective in Ireland,” he said. “I had a lot of time, sitting around hospitals and talking to the authorities. I thought things through, and I finally realized that I should never have blamed you for the accident.”

  “The accident?”

  “Right. No matter what happened, the fire was an accident. It was no one’s fault. Not yours. Not your father’s.”

  “It was someone’s.”

  “No. Let’s not try to fix any blame.”

  Her throat closed around itself. Tears threatened to fill her eyes.

  “I wanted to blame someone, Tessa. Mom and Dad were dead, I was in the hospital, and I thought there had to be some reason it happened—some person to blame. Your father was an easy target. So were you.” His eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  Blinking, she forced a quavering grin. “I think I can find a way.”

  “I’ll talk to your dad and make it up to him.”

  “You’d better,” she teased. “I expect him to give me away at the wedding. You’ll probably have to do some fast talking. He’s not too fond of McLeans. Neither is Mitch.”

  “When Colton gets here�
��”

  “Oh, Lord, I hadn’t even thought about that. He hates me!”

  “He just doesn’t know you.” Denver shoved open the door. “I think it’s time to start mending fences—and fast.”

  His fingers closed over hers and he pulled her downstairs. How, she wondered, would they ever mend the old rift between the two families? Time was supposed to heal all wounds, but the past seven years had only deepened the gap.

  Her father would be easy. If Curtis saw how happy she was, he’d forgive Denver. And when they had the baby, Curtis Kramer would glide around this ranch on cloud nine. The baby! Should she tell him? She slid a glance at Denver and couldn’t ruin the moment. She had to wait—at least until she was sure.

  Besides, she and Denver had other hurdles. Mitchell and Colton would be more difficult to convince that she and Denver loved each other than would Curtis. Her brother and Denver were just too bullheaded and too much alike. Heaven help us, she silently prayed. God only knew what would happen when Colton McLean stepped back on Montana soil.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The sky was overcast, heavy with the threat of rain. Tessa glanced through her bedroom window to the shifting dark clouds and wished that the storm would hold off, if only for one more day.

  Tomorrow she and Denver would be married. In a private ceremony in the Edwardses’ rose garden, finally, she would become Mrs. Denver McLean.

  If only rain didn’t spoil the nuptials.

  “I’m still not sure I approve,” her father said. Standing stiffly in front of a full-length mirror in her bedroom, he surveyed his reflection with a jaundiced eye. His tuxedo fit perfectly, the white shirt in sharp contrast to his tanned skin. “I used to call these things monkey suits, and that’s what I feel like—a damned circus monkey.”

  “You’ll get over it.” She adjusted his bow tie and grinned. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you look rather dashing and distinguished.”

  “Bah!” His fingers scrabbled across the front of his stiff white shirt for a nonexistent pocket. “Damned fool things,” he muttered.

  “It’s only for one day.”

  Curtis’s eyes grew sober. “You’re sure about this marriage?”

  “Positive.”

  “Mitch is fit to be tied.”

  Tessa remembered Mitch’s volatile reaction. “That’s Mitch’s problem, isn’t it?”

  Her father smiled crookedly. “I suppose it is.” He eyed the mirror harshly. “Can I take this thing off now?”

  “As long as you promise to put it back on tomorrow.” She breezed out of the room on the same cloud that had carried her, floating in happiness, for the past week. Never once in that time had any of the old doubts surfaced, and Denver had been wonderful. In only seven days, he’d rented an office building in Three Falls, had Ross Anderson draw up the papers to sell off his half of the engineering business to Jim Van Stern, straightened things out with her father and even planned a honeymoon in the Caribbean. The only glitch had been that the activity within the house at all hours while planning the wedding had left little time for them to be alone. But tomorrow that, too, would change. And then, she thought smiling secretly, she’d tell him her news.

  If Mitchell was still harboring grudges, he’d have to work them out himself, she decided.

  The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and chocolate and fruit. Milly had decided a bakery wedding cake wasn’t enough and had taken it upon herself to make enough pies, cinnamon rolls and fudge for the entire Third Battalion. All neatly wrapped for the next day, the spicy confections were spread upon the counter of the kitchen.

  The first drops of rain began to spatter the windowpanes, but Tessa told herself she didn’t care. If it rained, the guests would just have to suffer a few cool drops drizzling down the back of their necks. Nothing could spoil her wedding day.

  “You think this is enough food?” Denver mocked, startling her. Turning, she saw him standing in the archway between hall and kitchen, one shoulder propped against the wall as he gazed at the overladen counters.

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe, my eye. We’ll have to raffle off pies at the reception. Each guest will win five.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” she teased.

  His smile was slow but suggestive as he sauntered across the room, rested a hip against the edge of the table and drew her into his arms. “Maybe a little.” Placing his forehead against hers, he sighed. “One more night. And then three weeks of warm water, hot sun and white sand.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?” She heard her father’s footsteps on the stairs.

  “I can’t wait!”

  Curtis walked into the room dressed in his dusty Levi’s, checked shirt and boots.

  “More comfortable?” Tessa asked.

  He snorted and lit a cigarette. “You’d better take some pictures tomorrow, because it’s the last time you’ll catch me in one of those damned suits again.”

  The back door creaked open and Mitchell tossed off his jacket before flopping into the nearest chair. “Don’t you think you could cut your trip down to one week?” he grumbled.

  “Too much work for you?” Tessa asked.

  “I hate to admit it,” Mitch said, offering an off-center smile to his sister, “but for a little thing, you do pull your weight around here.”

  “I’ll be back,” she reminded him.

  “I’m going to run into town for a while—”

  “You need to try on your tux,” she reminded him.

  “It’ll fit.”

  “Let’s find out tonight.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll be back in a couple hours. Don’t get all bent out of shape. Just remember who’s filling in for you while you’re busy playing baccarat and drinking mojitos on the beach.”

  “I won’t forget,” she said as he left again.

  “I’d better be shovin’ off, too,” Curtis said, eyeing his daughter fondly. “Big day tomorrow.”

  “The biggest.”

  Curtis glanced up at Denver. “I thought Colton might show up.”

  “So did I.” Denver checked his watch. His forehead was grooved with worry. “He’s still got a few hours.”

  “Not many,” Curtis said tightly, and Tessa wondered if the bad blood between her father and Denver’s brother could ever really be cleansed. Colton had been released from the hospital two days before, and Denver had hoped his brother would make it back for the wedding.

  Colton, Denver had warned her, hadn’t been thrilled at the prospect of Denver’s marriage. Tessa figured there was nothing she could do to change his mind. That would take time.

  “See ya tomorrow,” Curtis said, waving as he shoved open the back door.

  Tessa watched through the window. Her father ambled down the path and hunched his shoulders against the rain. “Do you believe in bad omens?” she asked as Curtis’s old pickup drove away, the taillights barely visible through the zigzagging drops trailing on the glass.

  “I’ve never thought of a summer storm as a bad omen.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. “In fact, I take it as a good sign. You know, a fresh start—that sort of thing.”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered leaning against him heavily. His arms were so strong, so protective.

  “Don’t borrow trouble.” He turned her to face him. “Here we are, finally alone, the night before our wedding, and you’re worried.” He smoothed the lines furrowing her brow with one finger. “How about a toast?”

  “A toast—with what?”

  “A bottle of champagne.” He eyed the pantry, where two cases of effervescent wine were stacked near the door.

  “Milly will kill you.”

  “Milly will never know.” Grinning devilishly, he strode into the pantry, pulled a jackknife from his pocket and deftly sliced the top case.

  A conspiring smile twisted her lips. “I guess it is our wedding—our champagne.”

  “I doubt if we’ll find many parched throats t
omorrow. Not with this much champagne. We can spare a bottle, don’t you think?”

  “Well, maybe just one.”

  He poured them each a drink, clinked his long-stemmed glass to hers and said, “Here’s to the most gorgeous bride in Montana.”

  “And California?”

  “Most definitely California.” His blue eyes danced. “And probably all the states west of the Mississippi.”

  “How about east?” she teased.

  “Don’t know about that.” He wrapped one arm around her. “There might be one or two girls who are prettier than you.”

  “I’ll remember that,” she said with a laugh, sending him a wicked, provocative look.

  Together they sipped champagne and shared chaste, wine-flavored kisses on the living room couch. After a week of self-imposed celibacy, Denver was about to go out of his mind. “I could carry you upstairs,” he said, his eyes moving slowly down her neck to rest at the hollow of her throat.

  “Then why don’t you?” she teased. Half-lying across him, she poured the last of the bottle into each of their empty glasses.

  “Because that damned brother of yours said he’d be back.”

  “He probably forgot. And he’s not my ‘damned brother,’ he’s your damned brother-in-law,” she reminded him.

  “Well, whoever he is, he’ll show up the minute we go upstairs—”

  Headlights cut through the night, flashing against the rain-spattered windows.

  “What did I tell you?” Denver asked, his lips twisting wryly. “Right on schedule.”

  They heard boots clatter against the porch steps. The back door squeaked open. Footsteps paused in the kitchen and the refrigerator door clicked open.

  “In here,” Denver called over his shoulder.

  “We thought you’d be back,” Tessa said. She peeked over the back of the couch just as Colton McLean, one arm supported by a sling, his free hand clenched around the neck of a beer bottle, appeared in the hallway. Tall and lean, with suspicious gray eyes, an unruly beard and a rain-speckled suede jacket, Colton walked into the room as if he owned the place. Which he did. Or, at the very least, half of it.